The Pledge
by blackribbon2
Summary: After Christine rips off the Phantom's mask and he throws a tantrum, things take a different turn. She shows her sensitivity and he shows his heart. If ALW's Phantom is high romance, this is as high as a kite.
1. Chapter 1

**The Pledge**

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters belong to me. This story is based on the ALW movie version of The Phantom of the Opera. IfALW's version is "high romance," this is as high as a kite.

**Rating:** M for adult themes and sexual situations, though the first several chapters are PG-13.

**Summary:** After Christine rips off the Phantom's mask and he throws a tantrum, things take a different turn. Christine shows her sensitivity, and he shows his heart.

**This story begins after the movie phantom quips:**

"Come. We must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."

**Chapter 1**

He offered her his gloved hand.

Christine reached up tentatively and then placed her hand in his. He clasped her hand and lifted her until her feet hovered and then met the ground securely. Chagrined, she wondered if he was still angry with her, but one furtive glance at his tranquil visage told her that he was not. Her trepidation vanishing, she began to relax.

He kept Christine's hand pressed in his and led her to the water. Gingerly she stepped into the boat and sank into its depths as he stepped in behind her. She settled against his leg and felt the taut roundness of his calf resting against the side of her ribcage; she did not reposition herself. An emotional exhaustion settled over them both and took from them their song, neither did they speak; the passageway echoed its silence. He guided the boat along the crests of the rippling water. The water lapping its changing rhythm against the boat soothed Christine's ragged senses.

When at last the rippling path gathered and vanished beneath the cobblestone, Christine's "Angel of Music" hopped from the gently rocking boat to the ground, his feet steady. His proffered hand cut crisply into Christine's reverie. She grasped his hand and his arm leapt back as he lifted her to ground that was no longer uncertain. The steady ground caught her by surprise, and her feet stumbled as her balance fled. He bent and gently grasped her shoulders to steady her, his glowing green eyes met hers. The chilly air of the catacombs swirled around her and roused goosebumps on her skin. The horse stood staring quietly, ears pricked up straight. Her "Angel of Music" encircled her waist with his gloved hands and lifted her to the horse's back. She startled as he swung up silently behind her and touched his warm body against hers. He draped the heavy silken fabric of his cloak around her shoulders and wrapped her in his arms to quiet her shivering. The strength of his arms was undeniably pleasant. She did not resist his nearness, but instead allowed herself to sink against the broadness of his chest. Her eyes fell to his gloved hands in front of her, garbed in the finest quality of soft black leather, as they worked the reins guiding the horse. Fitting snugly, the gloves outlined the exquisite perfection of his well-formed, masculine hands.

The uproarious movement of chest muscles working against her back cut obtrusively into awareness and unleashed a melee of sensations within her. Lost in the soft clip clop of the horse's hooves, and cocooned in the mesmerizing warmth of his cloak, his breath a soothing tempo stirring vaguely against her ear, she could no longer ignore the long slow flames of a brightly burning candle that were beginning to lick teasing and insistently at her heart. A slow blush suffusing faintly at first, suddenly blossomed into warm pathways throughout her body. Overwhelming tenderness coupled with a strange desire to protect him, swept through her and she abandoned herself in his embrace, surrendering her body against the silhouette of his.

The nascent glow of affection that emerged like a trembling butterfly from the chrysalis of her heart now threw her unmasking into harsh light. What she had done now seemed ruthless and cruel. A sorrowful penitence caught in her throat. Quizzically, he turned toward her, she could feel his nose and lips pressed softly into her hair. When she did not respond, he sighed and turned his head back to its former position. He sensed a change in her, but fearful of crushing disappointment he dared not hope and did not explore his thoughts further. Once he turned his attention again to the journey at hand, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to earlier events. Nausea swept over her, not for what she had seen, but for what she had done. Plucking the mask from his face uncloaked not only a scarred and twisted visage, but a naked vulnerability that writhed in agony and hid. Her mind shrank from the memory of his torment before it gathered courage to roam, halting, into the craggy terrain of his bewildered anger against her treachery, which she knew now, sprang from his believing the ugly exterior gelded any possibility of love taking root. But his soul had captivated hers, and she followed willingly, casting her fears aside like the toys of her youth.

As he rode behind her, shielded from view, her remaining senses sharpened and intensified. His breath stirring intimately against her ear, his arms wrapping her shoulders, and his scent of perfumed candles mingling with leather flung little pricks of awareness through her heart. She couldn't remember when she had last felt so rapturously content. She wished the horse ride would go on forever. Confusion clouded her mind and knit her brow as she realized her angel of music was none other than a man. A man so fearful of the reaction of his disfigurement, he hid himself from her. But, the way he made her feel as he held her against him now made her think of him as an angel. For four long years, while he tutored her, she had heard only his voice. She didn't even know his name! To her he had become just simply "Master." She stifled the urge to query him for she dared not disturb the tender lusciousness of the mood permeating their paired presence for fear of its loss. Did he feel it too? She thought she felt his arms tremble or was she only imagining? She wanted him to feel the same elation she felt. But after what had happened, could he?

She thought back to his penetrating green eyes watching her the night before, alert, like a cat, and thought she had detected in them a faint glow of – adoration perhaps? Or was that what she hoped? She had seen the look of adoration before in the eyes of her father, but this was different. Richer, sweeter, and more powerful. Mysterious and unpredictable perhaps? A momentary darkness swept through her and goosebumps arose again on her flesh. He misinterpreted, and turned his cheek to her and pulled her closer to him, as if by reflex, and enfolded her more snugly within his cloak to warm her in the chilly air. She surrendered joyfully to the pleasure of his ministrations but soon her thoughts tumbled absently back to their aforementioned place of probing. Also, there was the strange figure of her… what did ithat/i mean? And he left her to sleep soundly through the night alone in his bed, but that could mean he did care for her. Or he didn't. Which? She searched for some hint of his emotion toward her. Finally, wearied by the wave of raw, newly exposed emotions parading through her mind, and the cacophony of questions and fears that followed her unmasking of him, she let the nettlesome thoughts tumble from her thoughts and again immersed herself in the joy of his proximity; that proximity she had yearned for throughout the years, and which would come to an end all too soon. A sudden stab of fear that she would never again feel his arms wrapping her, or his cloak cradling her in warmth surged through her.

Christine wondered what finally compelled his revealing himself to her. Was it her performance, or was it Raoul, her boyhood friend? With thoughts of Raoul came a long forgotten fondness, but the burgeoning love toward her "Angel of Music" quickly smothered it. Her heart, unflinching, now belonged to him. No person could wrest this love from her. His quick jerking of the reins as he brought the horse to a halt and swung to the ground roused her from her reverie and alerted her to the nearness of the journey's end. She fought back disappointment. His hands clasped her waist and she held his shoulders as she slid toward him, her slippers clicked softly to the ground. She glanced at him shyly but his attention was turned to tethering the horse. His gentle stroking of the horse after it was tethered stirred a memory of his gently touching her neck with his fingers the night before. While then it had confused and even frightened her, now the thought of it unmasked in her a gnawing hunger to once again feel the gentle warmth of his fingers caressing her neck. How could so much have developed and changed since the night before? She didn't know, nor did she care. She wanted only to continue experiencing this abundance of emotional pleasure. As he turned to signal a continuation of their journey, a look of surprise and then self conscious awareness flicked through his eyes at her steady appraisal of him. Then, once his mask of equanimity was restored, he grasped her hand with his and led her up the final passageway, where he turned to face her.

His darkly penetrating green eyes held hers, watching, and she succumbed to the urge to reach up and caress his face. He recoiled in horror and caught her hand midstream, fearful what had transpired earlier would again ensue. She understood and let her hand drop. Anger mingled with vulnerability flashed through his eyes, and then, confusion. He was angry again, but at what? Her? A missed opportunity? His lot? Her heart contracted a little. How could she convey to him that she never wished to hurt him again? An intense desire to hold him close and tenderly kiss his lips enveloped her, but she stood immobile for fear of inciting the anger and pain of earlier events. A creeping dread of his not liking her presence darkened her soul and emboldened her. How ardently she yearned to see him again! He awakened her heart and made her soul come alive. She stepped closer to him and softly touched her fingers to his; he drew in his breath quickly.

The questions tumbled from her lips before courage failed her, "Will you come to me again?" She dropped her eyes to the ground and whispered, "Forgive – my callous insensitivity?" She stole another glance into his now questioning eyes and held his fingers more tightly in hers; he did not draw away which emboldened her further. "Please! Do not deny me your presence."

A flicker of surprise was replaced by equanimity once again and he replied almost casually, "So many questions, which to answer?" Then tentatively, "my personage – it does not frighten you then?"

He waited for her to answer, his eyes studying hers intently. But beneath the surface, every fear concerning Christine's disgust of him crowded headlong against the fragile barrier of his reserve struggling to hold them at bay.

Christine's eyes widened and she said daringly "I – I want to see you from now on when you tutor me. I have waited far too long for it to be so! No, no, it does not frighten me." She did not sound entirely convincing, even to herself. Perhaps she did harbor some fear? While a burgeoning love obscured her fear, it did not blot it out completely. Nevertheless, she wanted to see him again, and that desire shown plainly in her eyes.

His eyes widened and his breath quickened. She dropped her eyes and her hand shyly and waited. Could he hear her wildly thumping heart? It sounded loud in her own ears. He continued studying her, his green eyes glittered. Did she feel something for him he wondered? But he didn't dare think it, only to have his hopes trampled, for she had seen him; it was enough that she wasn't frightened of him. But the tortured thought turned over and over in his mind, ishe had seen him/i. Both stood at length, motionless and silent in the presence of the other, drops of moisture trickled hollow splashes in the background.

Christine broke the spell when she reached for his hand and placed it on her cheek, cradling it. Her eyes averted up and seized his already searching vibrantly green ones. Something in them leaped and he drew her to him allowing both his hands to wrap around the nape of her neck and weave long fingers into her hair, caressing her. He rested his chin against her head as he tentatively wound her slowly into his arms. Warm, tender lips brushing against her hair entered into the domain of her awareness. He pressed her body intimately against his; his hands caressed slowly and deliberately over her back and into her hair. He was trembling. Tingling trails darted pleasantly throughout her body. Then, unexpectedly, he withdrew from her and let his hands slip from her hair. He stroked long fingers under her chin as his flushed countenance and darkly snapping eyes held her gaze, and then, quickly and silently, he turned and was gone. She stood lonely and alone in the churning darkness.

She thrust open the mirror and vanished through the shaft of light that led into the warmth of her dressing room. Heavy lidded and emotionally spent, she threw herself down and fell into a deep, contented slumber until late in the afternoon. Upon awakening she was enveloped by a temporary amnesia, which gave way to a creeping clarity that invited the memories of the morning's journey to assail her. She wondered vaguely if she had only dreamed, but the truthfulness of her heart laden heavily with love told her that she had not. She leaped up to assay the time. Almost impatiently she waited.

But he did not come to see her that night, nor did he the next.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Where was he? And why didn't he come! She lay in bed that night unable to sleep. Fear clutched her heart. The hole left by his absence made her heart's longing swell to enormous proportions. She threw back the covers and slipped out of bed, pacing the floor. She clenched her fist and stamped her slippered foot in anguish. Loneliness and the chilled air of the room swirled around and engulfed her.

Why hadn't she realized how much his companionship had meant before? Anger toward her foolishness swept through her. She missed not only the security of his guidance, but now, she hungered for his presence. What a gift he had given her, and she had taken it greedily. Now she felt shame, and a dreadful fear that she would be denied the pleasure of ever returning his generosity. The cool air goaded her back into the warmth of her bed. The thought of his guiding her voice to swelling crescendos sent shivers through her. Whether the shivers came from the cool air or thoughts of him she was not certain for only dimly had she been aware of what sweet surrender he awoke in her. 

But now, lying here in the grip of darkness, that awareness rose to a fevered pitch, and all fear surrounding it fell like tinkling glass from her mind. Why had she not known it? Her weary mind refused to allow the meticulous contemplation of that question. Finally, as creeping darkness fully descended and chased the patchwork of color from the room, a fitful sleep overcame her. Once during the night, through a sleep drenched mind when her mind flitted through wakefulness and then retreated, she thought she saw him gazing at her, and felt the tips of warm fingers draw affectionate trails gently across her forehead. The swish and crack of his cloak as he withdrew from her while she slept set her eardrums pulsing, but the mind-numbing, fatigue of slumber held her dreaming in its grasp and refused to allow her the luxury of a lucid appraisal. She wondered vaguely whether it had really happened, but the secure, contented feeling that spread through her as he left her to sleep attested to its reality.

Christine awoke early the next morning and rubbed knuckles against blinking eyelids to chase the sleep away. Her body cried out for more, circles darkening her eyes were a testament to that, but worry about her "Angel of Music" crushed the urge and enhanced her arousal to an unnatural degree. Would she see him tonight? After years of his coming to her night after night, without fail, to offer his guidance, she felt bereft at his absence the evening before! His ephemeral appearance the last night (again the question vexed - was it real?) fell far short of filling the abysmal hole in her heart. Still, she wondered about his surreptitious visit, and marveled that she did not fear it in the slightest degree, even while in a vulnerable state such as sleep. Instinctively she knew his presence held no danger.

She slept-walked through her day. Her thoughts, alighting and then taking flight far more quickly than they ever had done, instigated only a hazy discernment of the flurry of whispers behind her back and the questions about the feeble hold Carlotta now had on the title of "Diva." Upon Christine's delivery of "Think of Me," the crowd's enthusiasm ignited like wildfire and a profuse assortment of notes and gifts began to appear from her freshman devotees.

Christine's happiness surrounding her triumph grew and she wanted to share her gratitude with her gifted teacher, her "Angel of Music." That appellation slipped pleasantly through her mind, a magical quality attached itself to it. She let the thoughts slip through her mind again, her teacher, her "Angel of Music." He was real! And so were her feelings for him. When would she see him again? She wanted him to share in this glorious triumph that belonged to them both. Without him she was nothing, she could see that clearly now. She loved his rich, emotion-filled voice as he sang to her and urged her to greater heights, but as assuredly as the sun rose in the sky each day giving the earth sustenance, she gave sustenance to his music. What he wrote inspired her singing, and her singing inspired his writing. Her mind ran back through the years of instruction and his many arias as she exulted in his monumental talent and exacting skill, yet reveled in the gentle manner and kindhearted patience in which he taught her. How tragically sad, she thought, that no one knew the true identity of the one who wrote the "anonymous" pieces "procured" by Mme Giry. How much she wanted to give them voice, and showcase them for the world! Her newly minted affection toward him set fire to that desire.

Zombie-like she wandered through her duties while her thoughts journeyed back to the evening before last as he captivated her with his song and summoned her to his abode. The vision in her memory of his moving with languid ease as she watched slipped through her thoughts, hypnotizing and stirring her sensibilities even now. His figure swayed over her, he was a well-built man, but his broad shoulders moved with an elegant effortlessness and grace. His mask-clad face was curiously handsome. There was something darkly sensual and attractive about it, she decided. He, however, seemed impervious to that knowledge.

Thoughts of her unmasking him rushed unbidden into her mind and sent a momentary shiver, followed by a darting jab of shame, through her. How could she do such a thing? It was true, his naked face left her trembling and aghast. She understood why he hid. Her thoughts shrank from the memory. And now, she feared he never wanted to see her again because of it. That had to be it. She knew it! What would she do? How would she find him? Her thoughts ran away with her. Wounded by her own petard, the sting of his rejection rivaled the sting of her treacherous cruelty.

As the day drew to a close, the matter of her taking the principal role in the upcoming opera was still not settled. It seemed that the new managers did not understand the power wielded by the Opera Ghost. Truly, the brilliance of many of the operas was in direct proportion to the ghost's involvement, though, as yet, they couldn't have known this.

That night Christine fell, exhausted, into her bed. Still sleep refused its visit. The usual time of the appearance of her 'Angel of Music' came and went without him again. Nor did he come this night to gaze upon her and draw warm lines of affection across her forehead as she slept. The night unfolded into a lengthy black sheet of monotonous loneliness and the tears welled and slipped from her eyes. The absence of his cracking cloak caused her to start from her sleep, and feel the icy cold fingers of an unprotected gloom surround her.

By morning her exhaustion and her regret were excruciating. She wondered fleetingly if he had always materialized each night before to keep her in his watchful gaze. His truancy the night before seemed to stand in jutting opposition to what now appeared to be typical: his guardianship. The thought both titillated and comforted her. But now, the pain of rejection crept through her like the ache of illness.

This was so unlike him! What if he were in danger? Fearful thoughts batted like irascible bees through Christine's aching head. She felt she would die if he did not come tonight. Christine moved through the motions of her day, detached, and this night she did welcome sleep. Fatigue consumed her; she was spent. Reviewing both parts of diva and chorus girl while a dearth of sleep mounted drained the last vestiges of her reserves. Immediately after his usual appointed time came and went without his arrival she plunged into slumber, but she awoke with a start. What was that noise? How long had she been asleep? She could see the moon outside her window had arched its ascent in the dark sky but not one sharp enough to signify a great passage of time. In the still of darkness her ears sharpened, and she thought she heard hushed breathing. Fear crept through her. Then her eardrums beat like insect wings with the familiar whispering of a heavy fabric as if the person moving about had rethought things and then whirled around and traversed toward her once again from – behind the mirror? The mirror moved, and a thin shaft of glowing light burst through.

Christine leapt from her bed and flew swiftly through the razor thin opening that beckoned the shaft of light and flung herself into the astonished arms of her hesitating 'Angel of Music.' She dropped her head close against his chest and slipped her arms tightly around his waist. Had her eyes not been buried in the starchy folds of his scratchy linen shirt she would have been surprised to see this genius, this creature of darkness, his eyes blinking in surprise, arms leaden at his sides, and the bow of his mouth revealing a dark and wildly vulnerable deprivation. He stumbled back from the force of her thrust and then quickly regained his footing and his composure. His ruffled shirt scratched her cheek; her tears made the ruffles wet. Instinctively he tried to peel her slim form away from him to lift her chin and search her eyes, but the tight clasp of her arms encircling his waist prevented it. She clung to him and her ears heard the tempestuous thumping of a beating heart. Whose? His. Hers. Or was it both? She refused to let him go. His body felt fiercely warm, tender, and untamed against her.

Something in the long forgotten recesses of his mind stirred and awakened memories now nearly dead – memories from the past, attenuated almost beyond recognition that alerted him to the possibility of her affection. But still terrified of its inaccuracy, he squelched the insolent thought. His expression softened as his arms lost their leaden feeling. He cupped her head in his hands and weaved his fingers through her hair. How he loved the feel of the twisting rebellious curls slipping through his fingers. Tears started in his eyes; urgently he fought them back, she must not see! He stopped trying to peer into her eyes for fear his feelings would show transparently through his and distress her. 

She sighed in relief at his cessation; she did not yet want him to behold the outpouring of emotion in her own eyes. My God! she wondered. How could she not have known how much she loved him? Holding her curved, feminine form against him unleashed an upheaval of emotion and desire in him. Their frightening strength blazed through him, but this time he let the feelings course unimpeded through his body, no longer standing in fear of their brutality. They stood, holding each other, letting the pure pleasure of their feelings wash over and engulf them. Finally, the feverish pitch of their embrace waned enough that their bodies parted. She spoke,

"I was afraid for you, that you were hurt or had changed your mind. I was afraid you no longer wanted to teach me. Why did you not come, my Angel?" She dropped her eyes, feelings of rejection pricked at her heart.

But it was not rejection that kept him from her. The fire igniting his heart, also ignited his fear. The terror of giving in to unabashed surrender made him a prisoner. It was like trying to slake the thirst of a dying man in the hot desert sun with six drops of cool water. The giver of water would naturally become the object of the person's struggle. He could not let his painful yearning put her in danger. That scarcity of affectionate human touch and sensitivity for so many years had morphed and bloomed into something palpable and alive. It alarmed him. He could not, would not, ever, allow it to become his overseer. When he felt it intrude, stealthily and uninvited, he took flight. He swore he would. The inflamed, unbridled love he felt toward Christine must always include her protection, he had decided. If he, himself, put her in danger, he would cast himself from her. Deep in thought and meditation over the past two days, that is what he had decided. He replied,

"Christine, never! You inspire me; you unleash my creativity! You give my life hope." He entwined the fingers of both hands into each other at the nape of her neck and held them as he bent with his face close to probe her eyes, the folds of his cloak draped and swaddled the floor. He said reassuringly. "As long as you desire it, I will never cease to teach you." The words, "my love" tumbled to his lips but he stopped their utterance, and instead stood straight and massaged long, elegant fingers into the curling hair at her temples. Her head dropped back and she fell into his trance.

A drowsy fatigue surged to the forefront of her mind, but she wrestled it back. His gentle fingers felt gloriously wonderful against her skin. He gazed at her and admired her beauty. His fingers touching her flawless skin soothed him. How he wished his were the same! He spun the words "no longer wanted to be my teacher" over and over again in his head. Was that all she wanted? This didn't seem to be a normal display of affection for teachers – or did it? Disappointment caused his heart to constrict, but he reminded himself sternly that he did not deserve her affection at all and had already received far more than he had ever dreamed. Nor would he ever demand it.

He dropped one hand and allowed the other to rest under her chin while his thumb moved along the fullness of her bottom lip. Full, soft, warm, it enticed him. He yearned to take her in his arms and press his lips against hers, but he did not. His hesitation, and initial retreat, earlier tonight sprang from the wariness of his exploding desire to seize the passions of her mind, body and soul to himself. But her stirring had brought him back to look upon her once more, and it was then that she surprised him with her appearance. He dropped his hand self-consciously and stared at her lips, wanting to surrender himself to her, yet also fearing it. She took his hand in hers and started to lead him in the direction of the cellars toward his abode. Unable to resist her willingness, he followed.

As they reached the embankment, he leapt from the boat to steady ground and then deftly threw his heavy cloak in an arc from his shoulders to the stone beneath his feet. The folds gathered the air perfectly and testified of his grace as he cast it down. Watching his body dip and sway languidly as he moved stirred her longing and affection. Unaware of her thoughts, he recounted animatedly the music he had written late into the night before. Feelings of love coupled with a painful fear of rejection drove him to a creativity that shocked him.

He offered his hand and led her to the organ where he sat and patted the bench next to him and then pulled off his gloves and casually tossed them next to the keys. She watched agile fingers and beautiful hands that played for her and he urged her to duplicate the notes with her voice. Their voices intermingled with melodic beauty. Together they sat on the bench of his old pipe organ, she leaned against his shoulder. Ecstasy surged through her as she heard his voice close to her ear and watched him play. How much more she loved the warmth of his physical body near and being in his presence than she did simply hearing a voice!

At one place the bars of music displeased him and he stopped to pen the notes over; concentration curled his lip downward in seriousness and his brows rushed inward, a piece of his black hair fell from place and cut a line across his skin. The mesmerizing vision of him before her eyes was like a soothing balm blanketing her mind. Fatigue from her lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil of the past several days, coupled with his comforting nearness made her eyelids lazy.

She said, "I am so tired, my Angel."

The appellation made the corner of his mouth curve up quickly in amusement, but just as quickly it fell away as he wondered how long he would be her "Angel."

"The lack of sleep for your worry has won I am afraid."

"Patience my love." The words fell easily from his lips.

She stared at him with wide, shining eyes. He was embarrassed at the slip, but he ignored it as he wondered at the ease with which the endearment leapt from his tongue and then reached over to pen some more notes when she suddenly stood and without warning teasingly pulled his arms away from the bars of music and crawled into his lap.

She slipped her hands against his chest and then encircled her arms about his neck. Her lips were pressed into the hollow at the bottom of his neck, a perfect fit, and her nostrils breathed in the fragrance of leather mingled with the perfume of burning candles that clung to him. How wonderful he smelled! She pressed her lips in the shallow and breathed in deeply again. He was stunned.

The notes fell suspended from their places in his head. This could be no ordinary teacher affection, could it? Numbness once again gave way to turbulent emotions warring throughout his body. The slow torpor of his encircling arms returning the embrace belied the roiling turbulence inside him. My God how he loved her! This time he held her closely and breathed in the fragrance, like fresh roses, of her hair. He could not stop his trembling, nor did he try. Instead, he allowed himself to experience the full array and depth of his affection, though the torrent of emotions that rushed through his heart was daunting.

The relief at finally permitting himself the exquisite luxury of experiencing the depth of his feelings quelled his trembling. He held her and let the deliciousness of it wash over him in unceasing waves. He dared not move for fear of what he would do next. Finally, her evenly measured breathing and arms relaxing from around his neck told him she was sleeping. He was relieved and reassured that she felt safe with him since she slumbered, though in the earliest moments of the embrace he had not completely trusted himself.

He continued to hold her and caress her neck softly, and entwine his fingers into her hair. And experience the deliciousness of her soft warmth along with the budding acceptance of her affection that floated enticingly through his mind. He hardly dared entertain it! Then swiftly and deftly he lifted her once again to his bed. He closed the veil and stood gazing at her for some time while he reveled in the thought that she was here with him again, but he reminded himself harshly that she had only recently emerged from childhood into the earliest province of womanhood.

He disrobed and reclined himself in another part of the cellars away from her. He would never cross the boundary of his bed with her in it without her explicit permission. That he had already long since decided, though he longed to hold her close in his embrace the whole night through. But he understood from somewhere, the love freely given is the sweetest, most enduring love of all.

The next morning when she awoke, he was again sitting at the organ penning the notes. He turned to her when she approached and this time she came to him and caressed his face lovingly. There was no hint of her moving to unmask him. Nor would she ever again.

She uttered the words "never again my love," and he knew her meaning.

She surprised him pleasantly when she again slid into his lap and slipped her arms around his neck. She began kissing the corner of his mouth, at first softly, then more urgently. His pen dangled in mid air. She parted his lips with hers, probing softly. His lips were gentle, responsive. But suddenly afraid of the torrent of feeling and fearful of his own response, he remembered his resolve and tried to pull her arms from his neck.

She refused to let him have his way. Finally he succumbed to her loving embrace and began to respond with slow, sensual kisses. Her lips were soft, warm, full, insistent. His, full and gentle, warm and alive. Though twice her age, he was learning along with her. Each guiding the other, they reveled in their sharing. Each drowned in the sheer delight and ecstasy of the other. Enlightenment slowly permeated his mind, and he knew he must come to his senses and stop or his urgency could overwhelm him and frighten her. He loved her far too much to cause her pain. Slowly he steadied the turbulence within him and marveled that he even could. Their kisses became less urgent and more tender once again. He could not take her before she was ready. He would not. Shaking, he stood and announced it was time for her to return. She knew it was true, and though disappointed, moved to comply with his wishes.

Grateful this cushion of time was guaranteed to them by the journey back, she resigned herself to their meeting's end. She loved this journey, for this was where she had first fallen in love with him. On the horse he once again slid up behind her and cocooned her in his cloak to stave off the cool swirling air. How much she loved it when he did that! She could hear his breathing in her ear, and feel his lips against her hair. This time she knew it was not her imagination. He purposely allowed his shirt to fall open at the ruffle to feel the thick mat of her hair against the skin of his chest. To him, her hair represented something sensual and intimate.

After a while, he jerked the horse's reins and dismounted and tethered the horse. She watched him intently, pleasantly aware of the fine figure he cut, and this time he did not shy away from her gaze. He walked to her and reached up to lift her from the horse. She slid down easily, his hands lingered on her waist and he stroked his cheek against her temple affectionately. Finally he wrapped her under his cloak in the crook of his arm and led her up the final passage. He turned to face her and let his hands wrap the nape of her neck and his thumbs stroke the sides of her jaw line. She turned her face up to him and he bent to kiss her lips, this time it was he who was insistent.

His arms encircled her and her body willingly arched back as she fell into his embrace. His warm, sensual lips began kissing along the trail of her throat and then down onto the delicate skin on her chest above her bodice. He pressed his lips as low as he dared allow. A burning desire to move the fabric of her bodice aside filled his thoughts, but he did not. His lips moved, trembling, back to hers and he parted them, his tongue slowly tasting and feeling the fullness of her lips. She responded with an eagerness that disarmed him. He was glad they were not alone at his home this time. Abruptly, he stopped and stepped back from her, his long fingers traced a lingering line under her chin and his eyes a lingering look into hers as he turned away. Then, he was gone. She was filled, yet still hungered. She wanted more of him.

He did not wish to leave, but knew he must, for there were some matters of business that demanded his attention; those matters included Christine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The familiar rustle of heavy fabric rending the air reached Mme Giry's ears in time for her to glance up from her desk and see the figure of Christine's music teacher darken the greater part of the doorway and stride through, the folds of his cloak gathering and billowing about his ankles. With elegant ease he allowed himself to sink into the chair before her desk, the cloak spread like a curtain on the floor. His dark hair gleamed, and his dress was impeccable. Years of focusing her eyes on the handsome lines of his face had long since caused the mask to recede from view.

He leaned back and crossed his legs, one gloved hand sat on his thigh and the other dropped to her desk and did a cursory sort through the pile of compositions she had placed there. His appearance was striking, and not the least bit intimidating. She loved him. Though that fanciful idea had long since flown from her mind; she knew it could never be, their age difference, she was 17 when she brought him to the opera house, he 12, and his enthrallment with the young singer Christine Daae, which had held his interest for several years running now, prohibited it. So she sublimated the fondness she felt for him, and made it the servant of their current relationship, that of trusted business partners.

They were not close, she had feared his grotesque look in their earlier years, and had clung too long to mores that made ugliness the rival of virtue and friend to a dark heart, but they had seen each other often enough over the years to allow a mutually respectful relationship to flourish and take root. One that eventually blossomed into the solid business relationship they now shared based on trust and the expertise each brought to the partnership.

When they were younger she had often brought him items of import and procured books from the outside world to assuage his curious intellect, and augment his education. He came and went as he pleased but it seemed he pleased to stay sequestered in the opera house the majority of time. The outside world had demonstrated time and again it was not a friendly place. Ugliness was equated with madness, and often drew derision and scorn. As he approached manhood, he would make trips out of the opera house alone, under cover of darkness, to obtain books that would expand his knowledge further. His talents for architecture were impressive, and his musical gifts immense.

As the passage of time grew so did Mme Giry's recognition and appreciation of his wide-ranging talents and shrewd musical acumen. She was fiercely loyal to him, and he, in his way, to her, though she gave him plenty of free reign. The fear and prejudice she once felt now seemed ridiculously absurd. Nor did Mme. Giry fear for Christine, she was confident he would protect her with his life if it were demanded of him. He had never treated her or her daughter Meg with anything other than the utmost of courtesy and respect, so she had no reason to suspect that he would mean anyone harm, least of all Christine. She became the protector of his identity, and he her confidant. She gave him shelter and secrecy, and he, assured her position and title in the opera house through his generous dispensing of shrewd musical advice and feats of engineering. Once bound together by a dark secret, one that had long since receded into the forgotten recesses of their minds, now they were bound together by their love of the theater and the Opera Populaire.

Together they had brought the opera house to soaring heights of popularity, increased the patronage, and enhanced the expertise and artistry of the ingénues. Mme Giry wielded a great deal of power with the prior owner, and had risen through the ranks as a result of her long tenure and the insight of her trusted confidant whose sage advice had proved auspicious through the years, but the prior owner had been unusually suspicious of the supernatural and convincing him of the opera ghost's reality had been easy enough. That superstition was increased further when once he opposed the judgment of the ghost and a precipitous drop in the opera house revenues sent him retiring to his bed in anguish. These new managers, however, were proving to be much more challenging.

He spoke; his voice was deep and matter-of-fact, "It's about the matter of Miss Daae."

Her eyes locked his, the intensity of her gaze alerted him to the fact that she was listening. He proceeded, "I think she is ready. The fruits of her training are ripe and begin to bow the branches of the tree."

Mme Giry gave a curt nod, though in the back of her mind a thought flicked through like a moth at a candle flame and she wondered if his normally keen musical savvy could be distorted by his affection for Miss Daae, which would lead him to believe that her talents were further along than was true. He stood abruptly and it set the folds of the cloak to dancing at his ankles again. He turned to stride out the door, the robes, steadfast, followed in his wake.

Unexpectedly, he halted and the billowing fabric rushed and gathered careening at the backs of his ankles. Mme Giry witnessed his abrupt halt and, curious, assayed the direction of his gaze. His eyes gleamed a sparkling green as he glanced below. Mme Giry followed his gaze to glimpse the figure of Christine Daae several stories below. She stood and leaned over to brace her hands on the top of the desk and watched him intently, a voyeur to his obvious affection for the young singer. Watching him watch Christine kindled the fires of her own emotions. She wondered momentarily if his love was unrequited. Strangely, she hoped not. Living vicariously, she allowed herself to be carried away in the moment, enjoying the vision of his luminous affection toward the young woman.

Christine's crescendos filled the opera house with a timbre clear and sweet, her range expansive, her voice touched with the glow of burgeoning womanhood. They exchanged glances, both knew his affections did not deceive. She bowed her head and gave a small smile of acquiescence while he gave a quick nod. He took her leave. She watched after him, his long stride and elegant grace captivating, as he departed through the secret chambers he, himself, had built. She never ceased to be amazed at his genius and ingenuity.

Straight away, another figure darkened her doorway and slipped through. The new patron, the Vicomte Raoul De Chagny entered. Raoul was a handsome, well-mannered man, with long golden hair and a kindly disposition, but despite those desirable traits, Mme Giry immediately felt an uneasiness permeate the ambience of the opera house. When Raoul asked to meet with Miss Daae the unease multiplied. Mme Giry glanced beyond the figure of the Vicomte and at once understood why. Christine's teacher stood standing in the shadows, the skin of his face showing a hardened, inscrutable mask, his eyes glowing darkly. Mme Giry began leading the Vicomte down into the rehearsal hall to meet Christine, after all what could she say to him, "the opera ghost refuses to grant your presence with Christine"?

Christine's "Angel of Music" was surprised at the magnitude of jealousy that raged through him when he caught sight of this brash young suitor. He stood in the shadows as Mme Giry led Raoul down the stairs and watched as their heads bobbed their descent and disappeared. Soon he saw them both wend their way across the floor toward Christine. Erik felt heartened when he saw that Christine did not light up when she saw Raoul they way she did him, but a sick dread still constricted his heart.

She greeted Raoul with a smile, a faint fondness in her eyes. Unschooled in the finer points of courtship, her "Angel of Music" could not be sure that the fondness he detected wasn't something threatening. Paralyzed, he stood there watching them, his breathing heavy, and his heart thumping like a heavy drum in his chest. Then, he closed his eyes and forced himself to parry the blows of his jealousy and let the heat of it fall from his thoughts. Other than expertise and adulation, what could he offer her? Adulation couldn't buy property or a respected place in Parisian society. If he loved her, he would not shackle her to him, he reasoned. But reasoning was unable to stem the rising tide of nausea, and the desperate sense of loneliness he felt. A love freely given: those words seemed to taunt him now. He continued to watch as Christine walked with Raoul in the direction of her dressing room. Abruptly he turned away from the vision of the two of them exchanging pleasantries and strode with a heavy heart, toward the entryway of the back passages.

Christine looked into Raoul's eyes, but they did not make her heart leap like her "Angle of Music's" did.

Raoul's eyes were imploring as he begged her, "Christine my fondness for you has not dimmed through the years, please, let us enter into courtship. It would gladden my heart and the heart of your father, if he were here."

Mentally she prepared her defense before she finally said, "Raoul will you come with me to my dressing room so that we may talk in private."

A smile leaped to Raoul's lips. They entered the room and sat down to face each other in much the same way they had sat and reminisced a few nights before. How much had changed since then!

"Raoul, dearest friend, I have to share something important with you. My heart –" she screwed up her courage, "my heart belongs to another. I am in love with someone else, someone very dear and important to me." There! She said it!

Raoul looked crestfallen. He said, "We once had a friendship, did we not?"

"We did," she replied.

He continued, "I would very much like to continue that friendship. May I continue to see you as your friend?"

"Yes."

"May I come to see you then?"

"You mean as a friend?" She wanted to be clear.

"Yes, as a friend." His eyes were hopeful.

"Yes Raoul, I would like very much to continue to see you then."

Raoul, desperate to accept any encouragement leapt at the chance. He jumped up with a bounce in his walk that proclaimed his elation. One would have thought she had accepted a proposal of serious courtship, or marriage.

There was one who did think she had accepted just such a proposal. As Christine's "Angel of Music" hastily strode the back tunnels, whose path led him past her dressing room mirror, he suddenly caught sight of the two of them earnestly discussing something, clearly away from other ears, as they sat facing each other in her dressing room. He halted abruptly, transfixed.

He wanted to take himself away from prying but the words "Yes Raoul, I would like very much to continue to see you then," grabbed his attention. Raoul jumped up with a bounce in his walk that gave way his elation. Her "Angel of Music's" heart contracted in pain. He felt as if he had been hit with a physical blow that knocked the wind out of him. Jealousy gripped his heart and a pitiful sob rose in his throat, but he stifled it in anger. Tears jumped into his eyes and, embarrassed, he quickly dashed them away. Grateful to be alone, and sick at heart, he turned toward the cellars of his home.

Christine returned to her rehearsal and the new managers came out to announce they had agreed to let Carlotta sing the lead at that night's event. Carlotta had threatened to quit her position if Christine were allowed to sing in her stead. The new managers feared that if Christine did not know all the roles sufficiently well, the Opera Populaire would be put in jeopardy. When the announcement was finished everyone scurried off to prepare for the evenings events.

When Christine's "Angel of Music" returned that evening he placed a blood-red rose with a black ribbon tied around it in her dressing room. His mood was already grave but slipped into a surly frustration when he discovered that his Box 5 was filled with the insolent Raoul! And to add insult to injury, the new managers had ignored Mme. Giry's recommendations and cast Carlotta as the lead. Fools, the lot of them! But for all the annoyance those events brought, it paled in comparison to the pain he felt for what he had witnessed earlier between Christine and Raoul.

Keeping his mind centered on the evening's events was proving to be next to impossible. Especially since his seat was now occupied by the insolent one, and he was forced to perform a balancing act in order to watch the show from high up in the rafters of the Opera Populaire. This vexed him greatly and caused an idea to form in his mind. He slipped from his perch and walked regally to the balustrade to express his irritation through afeat of ventriloquism. His voice rang throughout the reverberating hollows of the Opera Populaire, "Did I not instruct that box five is to be left empty?"

A hush fell over the opera house as the spectators turned and strained to see from whom the voice that was reverberating with such power had come. A swath of rich black fabric lashed out from the side of the chandelier as the figure whirled and magically disappeared.

Meg Giry exclaimed, "It's the Phantom of the Opera."

Christine twirled in the direction of the voice with her brow creased in wonder and her eyes questioning. A sudden dawning realization told her it was the voice of her teacher!

"It must be him," she audibly to herself, spellbound. All at once "Angel of Music," the object of her affection, and "Phantom"converged into one. Shivers ran through her.

Carlotta quipped, "Shut your mouth, toad!"

Christine's head spun with this flood of new information. When the performance resumed, Carlotta lustily began her singing when the sound of a belching toad jumped shamefully from her throat. She backed away, screaming in torment from the awful sounds and then ran humiliated from the stage. The new managers rushed out from the billowing curtain, dragging the big eyed Christine along with them from behind and announced, "ahem, quiet everybody, please, the role of Countess will now be sung by Miss Christine Daae."

Up in the secret chambers the glum Phantom roamed, unbeknownst to him, followed by Buquet the stagehand, who had seen him disappear into one of the trap doors after his announcement about Box 5. His world that held a glimmer of hope for love felt like it was rushing, tumbling into the abyss all around him, which distracted him from matters that should have been holding his attention fast.

The jutting rafters and swaying planks hung by rope were perilously high above the stage, but the Phantom's footing was steady and secure from his long tenure in the opera house. But Buquet's footing lacked that same familiarity high above in the twists and turns of the ropes and planks, and was further muddied by his lust for alcohol.

Tonight the Phantom chose to leave through a trapdoor that was seldom used since its awkward position made maneuvering tricky. To reach it one had to move obliquely from one unsteady plank to another and then immediately change direction and proceed from the opposite position while reaching hand over hand from one rope to another. The Phantom had often delighted in this trick as a boy but as a man, circumspection now curtailed the activity. Tonight he didn't care. It was the opposite position that seized Buquet by surprise. When the menacing face of the Phantom met his he lunged toward it with arms flailing and then lost his balance and his footing. Shocked, the Phantom sucked his breath through his throat in a fearful sigh and stabbed his arm through the air as he leaned into the plank, distorting the rope perilously, to grab Buquet.

The next thing the audience saw was the form of Buquet drop into view, jerk at the end of a rope and then, when the rope fully unrolled, fall onto the stage, dead. An inefficient looking noose, but one that, indeed, had done its dirty work.

Raoul, from his unique angle in Box 5 had seen menacing shadows dueling against the backdrop of the stage. Who was this Phantom? This mystery creature? He worried it was somehow connected to Christine's "Angel of Music" and a dart of fear for her safety coursed through him. He leapt from his place and ran down to pull Christine from the fracas and take her where she would be out of sight of menacing eyes: the roof. As he pulled her by the wrist up the winding stairs she questioned "Where are you taking me?" "Christine, you're not safe, you can't go back there."

They burst onto the roof. A view of Paris loomed far beneath them. It was unseasonably cool for the evening and snow fell softly, the moon sparkled off the lightly falling crystals that gathered on the ground. Christine could read the concern in Raoul's eyes. It roused her fears, questions swirling about her "Angel of Music" already pricked sharply at her composure.

"Christine, I saw shadows dueling from above in Box 5 right before Buquet fell to his death. I'm afraid – I'm afraid it's your "Angel of Music," deceiving you. Could he be this 'Phantom of the Opera'? If so, he is a murderer, of that I'm fairly certain, and you are in grave danger."

Christine's world whirled around her. She staggered a little and Raoul caught her and held her. She did not return the embrace, but neither did she rebuff him.

"No! It can't be true. My "Angel" has nothing but goodness in his heart. There is nothing in this world that has led me to believe otherwise!" Outwardly she was defiant, but in her own heart she doubted.

"Christine, I saw it with my own eyes tonight."

A sickening feeling crept into her stomach and for a moment she believed Raoul. This man she loved so dearly – a monster!

His voice filled her head, she heard "Chriiiiistiine, Chriiiistiine." She glanced around her. Where was he? In her imagination? Christine's rose fell to the ground and quickly she bent to retrieve it, unwilling yet to relinquish her child-like belief in his goodness. She asked trance-like, "Is his soul scarred like his face?" Then shame contracted her heart. Uncertainty swept through her.

"Raoul, what am I to do?"

"Let me be your freedom."

"No Raoul, I must know the truth for myself. If he is evil, I must know, but if he is not, that I, oh God! That, above all, I must know. I can't give you promises, not yet. We must go. They'll worry about my whereabouts."

Raoul grabbed Christine's hand and together they vanished through the doorway leading to the stairway that coiled tightly to the floor below from dizzying heights.

The Phantom emerged, heartbroken, from the shadows as Raoul and Christine retreated. He had witnessed the whole scene. Her voice "Raoul, what am I to do?" played again in his ears.

"My soul is scarred like my face?" That bloodied his already fragile self-worth. "Why would she doubt me?" he spoke barely a whisper to no one. No one cared. That tortured his heart; his chin gave up the fight to stay firm. Hatred toward his ugliness surged through him like wildfire. He felt grotesque.

Will prejudice never stop following in my wake? he wondered.

"No kind word from anyone," he sang quietly to himself, "no compassion anywhere. Chriiistiine."

No sound escaped though tears ran down his cheeks and dropped on the snow as he walked to the statue to stare out at the city of Paris sprawling below. A frantic wish that he could be part of it like everyone else blazed through his heart. He cringed at the thought of Buquet lying dead. He was a drunk, but he knew his craft. And he was a man, whatever his shortcomings, he didn't deserve to die.

"This face the infection…" he sang quietly.

Suddenly he lifted his face and his fist skyward and vowed that Christine would know the truth, although he was painfully afraid that Raoul had convinced her of his guilt. He recalled the events with perfect clarity. She must know! He remembered reaching out to stop Buquet's fall but the rope had caught his arm and nearly jerked him to the ground with the strength of it. He pulled his arm free in time to stop his own fall but the rope was powerful, like a thing alive and caught Buquet about the neck to secure his fate before he could free him. He looked at his arm and angry black and blue marks streaked across it – a testament to the truthfulness of the story.

The death, the loss of her love, and worst of all, her distrust of him, the tears fell and blurred the city and the lights below into a mottled canvas. A love given, and then wrested away, was the worst agony of all, for it had spitefully bestowed upon him the knowledge of its sweet bliss. His cloak whipped about his ankles as he strode obstinately to the door, threw it wide, and entered the back passages that led to her dressing room.

Raoul delivered Christine to her dressing room where she firmly refused to allow him to enter.

"No, Raoul, this I must do alone."

As soon as Raoul had put enough distance between himself and the door she took a deep breath, gathered her courage and turned the knob. The room was blanketed in darkness. The shaft of light shining in from behind alerted her to a single burning candle. Lost in the shadows, her "Angel of Music," or was it Phantom? sat on the sofa, enshrouded in his black cloak, with his head held in his hands. He did not look up at her entrance. The shadows glinted off the mask and made it look menacing. She froze in fear. Then the light from the halls behind illuminated the room in increments as she walked closer to him, and her eyes began to adjust to the figure in front of her. Slowly he looked up and what she saw disarmed her. His eyes were red-rimmed; his face glistened from tears. Her fears melted like ice in front of a fire.

Quickly she pushed the door shut with her shoulder, ran to him and dropped to her knees between his legs to look up into his face, imploring, each hand resting on one of his thighs. She reached up and caressed his face wet with tears. She rose up on her knees, pulled his face to her and kissed first his eyes and then the sensitive corner of his mouth she loved so much. She tasted her lips and the kisses were salty; she didn't care. The tears continued to fall. His breath came in whispered gusts. This was a man whose pain seemed to be much more than the sum of events from only this night. Her heart contracted sorrowfully.

"My love, why do you weep?"

His green eyes penetrated hers, searching.

"Christine, a man died tonight because of me!" he continued his voice flecked with anger, "This face!" He jabbed menacingly toward himself.

"This hideous face frightened him; he fell to his death. I tried to halt his fall but the rope caught my arm,"

absently he rubbed the purple and black streaks on his wrist , "and then unraveled and ensnared him in the struggle."

Christine's eyes fell upon the angry bruises in horror.

"Then it was an accident?" She had to hear it from him.

"My God, yes! Christine! I would not wantonly murder a man. Not now." His voice trailed off as if in memory of something long past. She looked at him quizzically. He remained silent.

"My dearest love, she exclaimed, I'm so relieved it was an accident! And terribly ashamed I doubted."

"I see why you would." He exhaled loudly. "Most people assume that because I am ugly I also harbor a dark heart."

His words shamed her. It was then that Mme Giry pushed open the door. She stood watching the lovers in their embrace, then, together, they both looked toward her. Christine sank all the way to the floor but left her arms resting on each of his thighs while he tiredly explained to Mme Giry what had happened.

At last she said perfunctorily, "well, one thing came of it. The new managers are scared to death of the 'Opera Ghost'."

And with that she turned to leave, but not before glancing back just before pulling the door shut to catch a final glimpse of the young lovers gazing at each other in their affectionate embrace.

When the door closed, Christine reached up and unfastened the clasps on the cloak at his throat; she pushed the robes aside and they fell heavily in a heap onto the sofa. She crawled up beside him and he enfolded her fast into his arms, burying his nostrils into her curls and breathing in deeply her perfumed fragrance. He brushed his lips against the delicate spot of her temple while one hand played into her hair, and the other held her tightly. The candle flickered and bathed the room in a soft orange glow.

His eyes fell to her lips and he said, "both of us believed things about the other that were untrue today." She sat up alert.

"What did you believe?"

"I believed you were in love with Raoul."

"No! he is nothing more than a friend."

"I caught of glimpse of you in the dressing room stating you wanted to see him again, and I was afraid I had imagined you cared for me." She settled back into his arms.

"Though," he said now deep in thought, "there may come a day that I must let you go for you to be happy, but God! How I dread it."

"You would let me go?"

"If it meant your happiness."

She stared at him marveling. "I never want to go, my love."

'My love.' She called him 'my love.' He let the words turn and twist like a narcotic through his head.

"And I don't love Raoul, though I do care for him as a friend."

"That lifts my heart."

He slowly played with her tresses and wound them through his fingers; neither spoke.

"My Angel?"

"Yes," amusement flickered in his eyes.

"So you are both my 'Angel of Music,' and my 'Phantom.'"

"Yes, I suppose that is true."

"Well have you a name?"

"Yes, my dearest, my name is Erik."

"She turned her lips toward him again and her reply was lost in their kiss; their urgency for each other grew.

She encircled her arms around his neck and pulled him down toward her on the sofa. He followed, unable to resist. Each slid into the embrace of the other. The hollow of her neck rested on his arm and her arm wrapped his neck, the outlines of their bodies came together and blotted out the light between them. Her lips sought his; their lips touched and heat coursed from his to hers, ravishing her with pleasure.

As the evening wore on he became more daring and pressed trembling lips on the silky skin where soft crests rose above her bodice. His lips and breath were hot against her skin. She slipped fingers softly through his hair. Goosebumps jumped up on her flesh and her body writhed in response against his. She wished he would never stop kissing her, but alas, he did.

He unwrapped and untangled their bodies, one from the other, and declared "I must go."

"Take me with you!"

"No. I cannot have you in my bed tonight, you would not be safe."

"From whom would I not be safe?" she cried.

"From me," he said flatly.

"Of course I would be safe with you!"

"Yes, and that is exactly as I intend to keep it."

He stood and donned his cloak. She rose from the sofa reluctantly and fastened the clasps for him. He took her in his arms one last time and touched his forehead and nose to hers and then softly touched his lips to hers. He exhaled, held her head, and ran his fingers into her hair against her temples. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed. She was again under his spell.

He kissed each eye and said "sleep well my love," and then vanished into the darkness.

Her eyes lingered after the place that now left a hole from whence he had vanished; she longed for him still.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Christine stood motionless and staring at the dark, empty spot that had once held him captive. The memory of his gentle lips like butterfly wings still played upon her eyelids. Wearily, she turned toward the sofa and cast herself down. She was pleasantly surprised to discover the spot still retained the warmth from their bodies as they had lain in their lover's embrace. She snuggled into the spot and rubbed her cheek against it. An alluring scent of leather and perfumed candles arose from the fabric of the sofa and permeated her nostrils seductively. She breathed in deeply his memory.

A debilitating fatigue and not wanting to leave the warmth of their lover's spot soon coaxed her into a deep sleep that stopped her return to her room. The cool air encroached and nipped like tiny sharp teeth at her unblanketed form, causing her to hug her limbs close and form a round ball. Intermittent pin pricks of cold trespassed rudely into her dreaming and then warmth swept through her and she slept soundly till the morn.

Erik strode, steadfast, his cape billowing behind, through the twists and turns of the back corridors away from Christine and toward Mme. Giry's sleeping quarters, since he knew the swift encroachment of the late night hours would compel her retiring. The final passage deposited him into the hallway that led to her room. Rapidly he approached her door and stood with his ear toward it while he rapped the knuckles of his fingers quietly against the wood in the cadence that identified it was he who asked entrance. Mme. Giry sprang to the door and threw it open quickly, knowing he was vulnerable to outside eyes as he waited. He disappeared into the darkly glowing rectangle as she clicked the door shut behind him.

Affection shown in her eyes, but he did not detect it, nor did she betray that affection, but any doubt about her deep respect for him would be firmly dispelled on this night. Her eyes locked his, as they both stood, and her visage showed rapt attention. She waited for him to speak. His face had the trials of the day etched into it, the green eyes revealed their distress over Buquet's death, and his demeanor was subdued. But a flicker of elation also made his countenance its home, which caused Mme Giry to remember the vision of Christine in his embrace. The thought warmed her.

Still gazing at him intently, and waiting for him to speak, she thought she caught doubt spreading across his handsome features. The pain and fear surrounding Christine's mistrust of him now crossed into Mme Giry's domain.

She read his fears and said matter-of-factly, "I never doubted you tonight, Erik, not once did I believe you had anything to do with Buquet's death. I knew there was some reasonable explanation." They exchanged glances that only they understood. Erik's countenance relaxed. It was true, he had worried that she would suspect he had acted maliciously.

"I was afraid you would think that since…" His voice trailed off and then, "I'm glad to know you suspected nothing."

"You have never given me reason here to believe your behavior is anything less than honorable."

Her words surprised him. His eyebrows lifted as he said "Do you really think that?"

"Yes, absolutely, I really think that. And have for a long time."

It was a long time since anyone had trusted him, or that is what he had thought, though it wasn't true. Many years of abhorrence registering in the eyes of those who looked at him, and their suspiciousness as a result of it, had carved an indelible mark in his mind that continued to distort his ability to read others accurately.

"I appreciate your telling me, I didn't know."

Suddenly feeling slightly self conscious she averted her eyes.

"Please. Sit." Her outstretched arm pointed toward the chair she offered him. "You have had a wearisome day."

He sighed, slid lazily into the chair, and leaned back with one leg stretched out long in front of him, the other bent underneath; his cloak draped his legs and spilled to the floor while his fingers interlaced in front of his chest.

The conversation took on a more formal tone as he said, "How did the authorities handle the matter of Buquet?"

"They pronounced it an accident, which as we have discussed, is exactly what it was. The cast and crew, on the other hand, believe otherwise."

"You mean they believe 'O.G.' had something to do with it?"

"Yes, and for now I see no reason to dispel that notion. Do you?"

"No. Especially not if it means we may be able to move Christine into a position of prominence in the opera house that much sooner. Her voice is magnificent." His eyes shown with affection. "Why deny the world such a rare gift as hers? "

"Why indeed. Why deny the world a rare gift such as yours?"

Again he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

She continued, "You sing beautifully, it's a pity you can't perform, but what's more, you are a talented composer, I think we should instruct Christine to showcase more of your pieces. The change in management offers a perfect opportunity. Her voice with your compositions would be a beautiful coupling. Have you ever thought of writing an opera of your own?"

Long, slender fingers rubbed his chin thoughtfully, he hadn't actually thought of performing himself. In that regard, Christine was his voice. "Yes, Christine's voice does inspire me. Christine inspires me - her beauty, her innocence, her sweet disposition – " he was lost in his thoughts. Mme. Giry waited patiently.

Then, at once, his mind flew back to the present and lucidity again settled upon his features. "Writing an opera of my own? No, I had not." The thought enchanted him. "But that thought may warrant consideration – Christine as the star."

"Speaking of Christine, before you came by, I was talking with the new managers about tomorrow's performance. They are frantic and want Christine to sing, as you have probably suspected, Carlotta refuses. What did you put in that concoction anyway?"

"'Jägermeister,' but I don't think that's what did it. The unexpected flavor only surprised her." His eyes were full of mischief. "I took liberties with ventriloquism, I must confess. The toad sound was me. She just thought it was her. Works perfectly well with her hysteria."

Mme. Giry laughed at his confession. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he resumed the conversation, "Back to the matter at hand, was there something you wanted to ask?"

"Yes. Could you work with Christine tomorrow to assure her readiness for the evening's performance? I now it's last minute, but I'm afraid I must rely on you. If anyone asks questions I will say she is with a great teacher."

His head dipped to express both his gratitude and his acquiescence. Abruptly, he rose to leave, his cloak snapped its reluctance and the tangle at his legs unwound. He strode toward the door and then turned back to Mme. Giry, with his hand on the knob and his cloak swirling about his legs, when she stopped him with her words,

"One more thing, let's meet in my office with Christine tomorrow morning and make her privy to our plans." Again he nodded curtly, then strode resolutely through the open door, his cloak chasing at his feet.

Before he departed to the bowels of the opera house an urgent need to look upon Christine while she slept surged through him to reassure himself that, among other things, she was safe. He was elated about this turn of events and thought about them as he strode through the twisting back corridors. He had waited for what seemed an eternity to witness Christine's debut.

His anticipation to see her grew as he neared the mirror that revealed her sleeping quarters. But as he approached the mirror he saw the room was empty! Fear gripped him and he pushed the mirror aside to enter. He went to the bed and stared down at it as if his gaze would command her sudden materialization. Alarmed, he looked around the room, she was not there! Quickly he stepped through the mirror and into the twisting corridors.

He began to make his way back to the dressing room where he had last held her, kissed her, and then left her. Apprehension about her safety quickened his steps. He came to the mirror and was almost afraid to look and find that room also empty. But the room was not empty; she slumbered peacefully on the sofa. He stepped through and stood staring at her, relief flooded his mind and his breathing slowed.

She was curled in a tight ball, and it dawned on him that she might be cold. He unfastened the clasps at his throat and the cloak slipped off his broad shoulders. He draped it over her gently so as not to disturb her dreaming. He bent close to look at her and his fingers drew warm trails across her forehead. The urge to hold her and kiss her and cuddle her in his arms cascaded through him, but he resisted the strength of its assault. She had not given permission for such a thing and he refused to cross the boundary of surprise. He allowed his eyes to linger upon her a moment longer, feasting themselves upon her beauty, and then turned from her and slipped through the mirror toward the direction of his home.

When Christine awoke the next morning she forgot she had fallen asleep in her dressing room. She snuggled into the depths of the warm covers. As awareness spread like a warm fingers through her mind the deliciousness of his scent filled her nostrils and her eyes fluttered open. Suddenly she sat up to scan her surroundings. It was his cloak she smelled! He had draped it over her during the night to warm her. She brought it to her face and inhaled deeply. How she loved the smell of him! As she sat with the cloak partially gathered in her arms under her chin she heard a soft knock on her door.

"Miss Daae?"

"Yes?" Who knew she was here? "Please enter." One of the young ballet apprentices peeked her head around the door and said "Mme. Giry wants to see you in her office as soon as possible."

"Oh, thank you."

Christine inhaled the scent of his cloak once more before she folded it in her arms, leapt from the sofa and flew to her sleeping quarters to freshen up. She smoothed and pinned her unruly tresses into place and then picked her way up to the high floor of Mme. Giry's office. As she approached, she saw Mme. Giry and Erik through the doorway standing over the desk leaning on their hands studying something that lay on the desk in front of them. Her heart leaped when she saw her teacher.

She turned her cheek to his cloak and rubbed it against her face affectionately as he turned to see her do it. His heart contracted at the endearing gesture. She slipped through the doorway and he turned to embrace her, unable to resist though Mme. Giry was present; his hand caressed her head against his chest, and his cheek dropped against her curls. His beating heart pulsed intimately in her ears; how she loved the sound of it!

He stepped back to interrupt their embrace; though Christine stumbled slightly in her desire to linger a moment longer. He held her elbows and waited for steadiness to return, his face serene with patience, and then they parted. She gazed intently at the curve of his mouth and sighed but only in her mind did she move to touch her lips to his, out of respect for Mme. Giry, who would have minded not at all. Christine's large dark eyes traveled up to meet his arresting green ones that sparkled like dew on the fresh morning grasses as he watched her.

She said, "My dearest love, you covered me with your cloak last night. I wasn't even aware you had entered the room; you were so quiet. But thank you, the warmth was a balm that calmed my shivering, and soothed my tempestuous sleep."

"Especially for you my love. Many years of stealthy passing through the corridors have hushed my step."

It wasn't entirely true since it wasn't only for her; he had needed the vision of her to mend his torn and tattered soul, before permitting his mind to tumble into the dark well of slumber.

A look of puzzlement traversed the visage of Mme. Giry. She'd not realized how quickly their relationship had bloomed and flowered. Her eyes rested upon them with dancing interest, but the puzzlement quickly vanished as her thoughts turned to business.

She said, "Christine, on this last performance night, you will be singing the role of Countess." Christine's eyes lit up. "I have asked Erik," she turned her eyes to Erik who nodded curtly, "to hone the performance of your song before the final rehearsal today. It will be tiring, but this unexpected turn of events calls for an extra practice."

Christine minded not one whit, she shyly smiled her approval. And since she and her teacher had already rehearsed this piece together many times, it was only a matter of fine tuning the most minute of imperfections. Their grouping of three broke apart.

Christine unfolded the cloak, stepped behind him and lifted it to drape over his shoulders. She then stepped around to face him and close the clasps at his throat. Her ministrations caused the seeds of passion to ignite throughout his body. Ardor mingling with devotion blazed in the luminous green eyes. Her dark eyes locked his and she wished they were alone. But time was of the essence, and its gathering depletion forced Christine and her teacher to leave through the back passages and begin their rehearsal immediately.

Later, Mme Giry happened to come upon Christine and her teacher as they rehearsed in secret. What she saw was electrifying. Their rehearsal was an erotic dance of seduction, but without the dance, or the seduction. She felt herself a voyeur who witnessed two lovers in exquisite nakedness, in the throes of their passionate loving one another, though the protagonists before her were fully clothed and barely touching. Mme. Giry felt momentarily confused as if she had burst upon a scene not for her eyes, though there was nothing untoward in their behavior.

As she sang he moved around her and made love to her with his soul, which raged behind the windows of his eyes. He would touch her with the tips of his fingers as he moved his lover's dance winding around her, loving her voice and the essence of her, his fingers alighting only momentarily upon her shoulder, her jaw line, her throat, or her breastbone to soften the sound or make it swell, or his hands lifting slowly their approval, or descending their demand for silence. Her voice loved him in return.

At times he placed his finger to her lips and sang her part himself to demonstrate what she must do. She listened carefully his intent and gave back his lesson. Mme. Giry stood, transfixed, wordless. Each of their movements flowed from the movement of the other as they paid each other their careful heed. This was to be a harbinger for the dance of their relationship to come. Mme. Giry departed silently, glee dancing like the flames of a fire in her heart. Tonight would be magnificent.

It was magnificent. Erik watched from his Box 5, which had been kept empty. His heart burst with pride and overflowed with love at his protégé's success. Christine's performance was as perfect as she was beautiful. Her rose waited for her in the dressing room. The adulation of the patrons was only a modicum less than Erik's pride for her. Raoul watched her too, and his heart also swelled with pride and love. Who was her suitor? Jealousy welled in him. He came to her after, and true to his word, they spoke as friends, though that was not how he wished it.

Christine's teacher strode toward the mirror from behind to catch the end of their exchange. Jealousy gripped his heart, he pried off each finger and waited for Raoul to depart. When Raoul left, Christine hastened to the mirror in search of the one she loved. It slipped open and he strode through the hole between the mirror and the wall to lavish her with praise.

"You sang beautifully, just like an angel."

"I sang like an angel, because an 'Angel of Music' is my teacher."

His eyes took in her beauty. Her words were a balm to his soul. He lifted his hands to her, palms up. They were facing each other and clasping hands as Mme. Giry entered to fold them both into her embrace and offer them her highest approbation. Sentiment passed pleasantly one from the other. Then Mme. Giry turned from them and vanished through the door into the dimly lit hall. Finally, all was quiet, and they were alone. She turned back to him to slip her hands under his cloak and around his waist, and lay her head against his chest. All thoughts of Raoul flew from his mind. They had long since left hers.

His arms encircled her and his hands slowly and deliberately teased her back and twisted into her hair. She drew back to unclasp the hooks at his throat and tugged his cloak aside. She cast herself upon the sofa and held both arms out to him and beckoned him to her. He sank down willingly. She snuggled against his warmth and pressed her nostrils and lips against the skin of his neck to breathe in his scent. A flurry of pleasurable emotions, intense love mingling with burning passion, curled through her. She sought and met her reward as her lips found the tender fullness of his. His lips were warm and willing. They kissed long, slow, sensual kisses far into the night. Her tongue teased and caressed his bottom lip. He responded eagerly. And finally each, enfolded in the arms of the other, fell victim to exhaustion, and slid into a deep slumber.

He awoke with a start, his ardor overflowing. Torn between principle and passion, he lay next to her, unmoving, thoughts of his loving her filling his mind and then, resolutely forced the thoughts into submission as principle resumed it position of eminence. Abruptly he sat and swung his legs over the side of the sofa. She awoke and folded her body around his back and her arms across his firm stomach and pleaded with him to stay beside her.

"No, my love it wouldn't be wise."

"But I love you so – "

Tenderness mingled with surprise filled his faintly misting eyes. He rose as her arms lingered and then slipped from around his waist. He bent to drape his cloak over her and bent to kiss her lips one last time. Then he placed gentle lips intimately against her ear and whispered,

"I must leave my love, for I love you too."

And with that he was gone. She tumbled back once again into a deeply contented slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning as the sun touched golden fingers to the grey backdrop of the world and caused it to explode into a patchwork of color, Christine stirred and buried her face into Erik's cloak to breathe in his scent and keep the memory of him close to her heart. Eyes closed, and caught between the shadowy realm of dreams and the stark world of reality, she floated in the warm glow of his parting words, and stretched lazily.

Lucid awareness flooded her mind, as drowsiness fled from her eyes and her limbs came alive with strength. The clear memory of his heart's confession played again in her thoughts and a cascade of tingles broke over her heart. He loved her! The memory of his mouth pressing hot against her ear as he relinquished his secret lit her heart on fire. She sat up and hugged her knees and his cloak to her chest, reveling in the memory. Then she slipped her legs over the side of the sofa and gathered his robes in her arms, pressing them close. She slipped from the sofa and her bare feet touched the ground. She padded across the floor with each step barely louder than a whisper.

Lost in thought with her eyes dreamy, she floated, quietly, like a ghost through the hallways to the room where she slept, all the while turning his words from the night before over again in her head. Still in the trance of reminiscing, she entered the final corridor and rounded the corner of the doorway where she startled to see an apparition of her phantom sitting on the chair, one knee drawn up and clasped in his hands, the other stretched long. Grey crescent moons shown beneath his eyes.

She leapt back; his robes tumbled from her arms to the floor. Her eyes stared, blinking in surprise as if that would somehow wipe away the unexpected specter of him, but when he rose and strode toward her she realized that this was no ghost. He bent to retrieve the robes and cast them aside, while the floor held her feet in place.

Fiercely he took her into his arms, a hard embrace, and held her close against him. Breathing became a Herculean task. She pushed her arms against him, but he held her captive. The quickened tempo of his beating heart against her ear incited angst but caught in his formidable hold, like a butterfly struggling within its cocoon, her breathlessness grew and at last she ceased her struggle, slumping against him. Abruptly he loosened his grip when he realized she was gasping to speak, fear twisted his features.

She started to sink and he grabbed her around the back to stop the inexorable slide of her body toward the floor. She breathed deeply and clutched the lapels of his coat for support, her knees weak. He walked her backwards toward her bed, all the while intently watching her face with his lip curled downward, her toes moved in tandem on the tips of his boots. When her calves lightly touched the bed she sank down and then let herself fall back. He sat down and hung over her, his brow knit with concern. The green eyes sparkling like jewels captured her gaze, and made her his prisoner.

"My love, forgive me, my feelings for you are fierce. It was not my intent to crush you in my embrace. Please, dearest one, tell me you are well!"

The intensity in his eyes stole her breath and her words away. She nodded, still finding it hard to speak, but whether because of his tight embrace or the flames that burned in his eyes she was unsure. The room whirled under the force of his gaze and her eyes closed, but her lips formed the word 'Erik'. She whispered his name again. It felt strangely intimate on her tongue.

He bent his head to touch breathless lips to hers, ending for good any attempt to speak. Warring emotions flashed through her body and her heart like an electric current.

He pushed her hair away from her face and drew his fingers into the tresses as he hung over her and showered her lips with the warm touch of his. The heat of his kiss intensified and she responded with a fervor that rivaled his. He lifted her in his arms and then lay down beside her, entwining her legs in his and gathering her close against his chest. Though he took her kisses feverishly, the foundation beneath was one of love and tenderness. The force of his eagerness both startled and pleased her since it had been his wont to keep his fervor severely restrained. She puzzled over it a moment but soon let herself freefall with him into a shimmering pool of emotion that rose and fell like the waves of the ocean.

At last his lips ceased their fervent urging and he drew away, but kept his gaze fastened intently to hers, as if once he let it go she would fly away like a butterfly. Their clothes fully in their proper place, they had made love through a meeting of their souls. A gravelly whisper escaped his utterance,

"Oh Christine."

Then he simply lay there with his gaze caressing her face, and in his eyes she saw all the sadness of the world. It alarmed her and she propped her head up on the elbow of one hand and stroked the other against the flawless skin of his face. Her voice revealed its disquiet when she said

"My dearest love, tell me, what is it?"

"An old recurring nightmare, his voice was grave – from the past…the loss of my mother."

But what he didn't say so as not to frighten her was that this time the face in the dream was hers. So intense, so real was the dream on this night that he had fled heedless to see her and clasp her to him, irrationally fearing that the dream had cast its spell and taken her away.

During the night, after he had departed from her and descended into the depths of the earth, his confession of love weighed heavily in his thoughts and cast all notions of sleep from his mind. At the foot of his bed he whirled and paced, back and forth and back again, his thoughts plucking his conscience like sharp beaks. He was spinning a rapid descent toward the point of no return and he knew it. What did it mean to love her?

His heart swelled with the memory of her in his arms urgently kissing his lips in return, but he abhorred the agony of worrying about the day she would leave. That day would surely come. Could he keep her here forever and confer upon her the prison sentence that was his? Which was worse, losing her or watching her shackled in this prison too? He couldn't bear it, though giving her up twisted his stomach and made him want to wretch. How could he? It would be like death. Like the death of that fateful day so many years before when they had torn him from his mother's protective embrace.

No, he couldn't imagine her staying here with him forever, nor would he ask it of her, though his feverish yearnings made him want to greedily command that very thing. He had a choice to make. Did he go further and allow the bond to her to knit the strands tighter and more intricately only to leave a torn and jagged wound at its severance, or did he end things between them now? Was it already too late for that? He suspected the latter.

The true question began to take shape: could he move aside and set her free when the time came? Because, he reasoned, if he could not, he loved himself more than he loved her. Love that burned zigzagged ruthlessly between selfishness and generosity of spirit within his heart. If he could not free her, then he did not deserve her. That was the crux of the matter. How much did he love her? He knew the answer: more than the desires of his heart, or even his life. He would not be driven by cowardice. Instead, he would stand by his confession and meet her at the gate of her desires, and follow her lead, whether or not it meant she let him go too. Her happiness was all that mattered. That, he reasoned was the embodiment of a love that was true.

Finally, with the true meaning of love deciphered, he fell, exhausted, onto his bed still fully clothed. If Christine didn't have his cloak, he mused, he'd have that on too. His mind went blank, and tumbled into the stygian depths of dreamless slumber. Then his mind came alive within sleep and floated into the world of dreaming where he was catapulted back in time to when the comforting arms that held him close and the mellifluous voice that soothed him were ripped roughly away.

His mother's face appeared and morphed into Christine's and was sucked away in winds that blasted in his ears as she called after him leaving him desolate and alone. Other hands grabbed him harshly and wrapped him in darkness. Sinister voices murmured, he heard his mother's screams and then she was silent. Christine materialized and stood alone in white silk robes of an otherworldly beauty whose fabric of light waved and snapped around her in the gusts of wind, her long hair twisting in every direction, and then faded away as he frantically called her name and then wept inconsolably.

The torture he endured after he lost his mother led him to believe he had died and been thrust to hell; that belief was manifested in his dream. Mme. Giry reached her hand in the darkness, grabbed him and pulled him from hell to safety. Christine's hands reached through heavy swirling mists to caress his face and relief like a narcotic warmed through him, the blasting winds quieted.

He lurched awake, an outcast, forsaken and alone. Hot and sweating, he sat to clear his head. He made his choice.

He must go to her. He could no more let her go now than stop the beating of his heart. She was his heart! He must know that the winds had not taken her. It was an irrational thought, that he knew, but so real and so vivid was his dream that only seeing her in the flesh could quell his roiling fears and dark emptiness.

Disheveled only to those who knew his normally impeccable appearance, he left his bed, and strode through the winding twists to which? Sleeping quarters or dressing room? The morn grew late, she'd no doubt have returned to her sleeping quarters. He entered through the widening gap between the mirror as it slid away from the wall, the noise barely a discernible murmur. He relaxed in her chair; fatigue gnawed ragged little lacerations behind his eyes. They stung; he must truly have wept in his dream. Straightaway she rounded the corner through the doorway, her arms full of his robes.

His mind flew back to the present where Christine's face changed from a blur to the clear visage before him filled with love and concern. He felt cool fingers caressing his face and her eyes searched his earnestly, and waited. When he did not speak she said

"I will never leave you."

She had read him so well that he felt naked before her, his vulnerability fully exposed. She wished to bring him relief from the pain he felt so unnecessarily since she no more wanted to leave than he wanted her to. The words that followed clothed him in contentment as softly she sang,

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you - my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you. Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe: no one will find you, your fears are far behind you. Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, let me lead you from your solitude…Erik, wherever you go let me go too, that's all I ask of you."

She paused as she caressed his face and slipped her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and reveled in her touch and her words. She continued,

"You are my life; the years you sang to comfort me when I cried in the chapel, before you came forward to teach me as the Angel of Music, made my stay here something beautiful. You have always been good to me. I will never forget. I will stay with you till I die. I love you!"

He opened his eyes and stared at her in shock. She felt all those things? So she had said those words last night. He had exulted in them and then he had doubted, wondering if he had only dreamed their utterance since he had so painfully wished for it. But it was true! She loved him. He didn't know what he felt more, the desire to laugh or the desire to cry.

His heart overflowed with love and he wanted to crush her close in his arms again but envisioned a rose with its petals falling away as he did, instead he rolled against her and kissed her forehead, and her cheeks, stroked her hair and pressed her body against his while he entwined his legs in hers and finally kissed her lips again and again softly and deliberately until his emotional hunger for her found blessed relief, and his fears were quelled at least for today.

He dared not speak for fear his voice would break. Feelings of relief chased away the adrenaline brought by fear, and exhaustion from the lack of sleep slipped into its rightful place. She slid slender fingers against his back as he held her warm body against his. The bulwark of resistance melted like butter as the tug for sleep spread an assault stealthily throughout his mind and body. His breathing grew even and steady, and his arms relaxed as he slid into peaceful slumber.

Christine gently unwound his arms and crept away from his embrace to watch him sleep, admiring the perfection on the side of his face unmasked. She strained to imagine what he would have looked like had he been born whole. She sighed and draped his cloak over him.

Moving quietly about her room, she readied herself for the day. A contented pleasure settled over her just knowing he was near as she went about her business, tiptoeing – wishing not to disturb him, to enjoy his proximity for as long as possible. Not one to remain idle, she knew he would rush off to some project the minute he awakened. She pulled on her rehearsal attire and slipped from her room turning at the door to let her gaze linger upon him one moment longer, and then she latched the door quietly.

When she returned he was still there almost in the same position she had left him. She bent to kiss his cheek softly and then went to her boudoir to divest herself of her clothing. She wandered quietly dropping one item after another of clothing around the room, which was to be replaced by one item after another as she pulled each piece into place for the next round of rehearsals that was to take place.

She began pulling the last item over her head when he stretched and then sat rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stared at her, eyes wide and blinking. She was not at all self-conscious. He was. He could not tear his eyes from the creamy white skin of her torso and breasts as in slow motion her bodice fell into place to adorn her figure. The urge to caress the silky skin and press his lips against the soft little mound that gathered on her belly swept through him.

Motionless and barely breathing, with lips parted in shock, he did not dare move as he reveled in the beauty of the vision before him. She pulled the blouse into place and glanced at him to see the stunned expression that floated within the green orbs. Teasingly she said

"Good afternoon my love, I hope you slept well."

"Afternoon?"

He was still staring when he sighed and said, "Forgive me, this was not what I planned."

Christine said, "Nor did I, but now that I know how much I love you slumbering in my room I shall always hope for it."

He rose with a smile, and stood watching her, long fingers lazily draping each hip. His smile! She'd not seen that often enough. It was endearing and held in it an element of mischief. He bent and gathered his cloak and she came to him to close the clasps at his throat.

Feeling disappointed that their meeting would soon end, Christine with eyes imploring, slid her arms about his neck and said, "When will I see you again?" His eyes slid downward to meet hers while he held her encircled in his arms.

"Whenever it is, it will not be soon enough. I'm going to meet with Mme. Giry about some items of business, unless you hear otherwise I will come to you at our usual appointed time."

"I can't wait."

He gazed down at the innocence of her upturned face and whispered "How I do love you" and then whirled around and disappeared through the slice between the mirror and the wall. The wisp of his black cloak gathering and tumbling and then whipping through the crack as it followed in his wake was the last thing she saw.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Briskly Erik strode through the dimly lit chambers that climbed their way up level after level to Mme. Giry's office. Discreetly placed gas lamps dotted his path and threw his shadow back and forth against the walls like a dark avenger as he followed the twists and turns. His billowing cloak chased at his feet to keep up with the long strides. But he noticed none of it.

The painting of Christine in breathtaking nakedness with skin like silk, exploded into his memory, like a masterpiece of art. He quickened his step. Did she not know what wretched, blessed torment she had wrought upon him? How much could one man, one lonely man, thirsting at the fountain of unquenchable love, endure? But for all its torment, rather than enshroud the painting in darkness to be hidden away forever, he examined it from every angle and position with eyes that loved her memory.

It intrigued him that she trusted him so openly and would unquestioningly place the gift of her nakedness in his hands; she had to have known he had awakened. In her innocence she could not know what danger lurked. Her upturned face floated before the eyes of his imagination, with the childlike look of innocence but also the subtle nuances of a woman both resting within it. A very young woman, her sixteen years barely allowed her to celebrate that milestone. He felt fiercely protective.

It felt wonderful to be trusted and he vowed right then and there never to violate that trust. He'd rather fall on his sword. He must let the thought rest or he'd go mad and rush back to crush her against him, and touch her full, soft lips with his, again and again without end. There was work to be done.

With effort his thoughts switched paths and it dawned on him how peacefully and deeply he slept whenever she was near. The chaos fled and fingers of calm folded around his weary mind, quieting it. He envisioned holding her nestled against him the whole night through but worried their relationship was not yet far enough along for that. Besides, he didn't trust himself.

Suddenly, Erik appeared like an apparition in Mme. Giry's doorway. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, while one leg lazily crossed over the other with the toe of his boot resting against the floor. He caught her by surprise as was evidenced by the way she started as she glanced up and saw him. Her eyebrows lifted, her mouth dropped open, and one hand rushed to her throat.

"Erik! Say something, you are so silent when you walk. Sometimes I think you do have the wings of an angel."

He smiled and his eyes crinkled around the corners. Mme. Giry knew about Christine's erstwhile belief in the Angel of Music but had seen no concern in it since it had offered her much comfort, and she seemed to have made the adjustment to the new information easily, along with the fact that Erik had been inordinately worried Christine would want to see him if she knew he was a man and be frightened if she saw what he looked like. He marveled that he had been proved so wrong. Mme. Giry did a double take when he continued to smile and said,

"Many years of practice."

The genuine mirth in his eyes now arrested her words since she had seen it so seldom before; it had not been that he was enshrouded in darkness but that he had often been, instead, matter-of-fact. The words caught awkwardly at her lips. His arresting green eyes held hers captive. She never ceased to be taken aback by both the earnestness that floated within them and their beauty. Both were silent and each held the gaze of the other.

He detected a flicker of something in her countenance. What? She in return, saw something flash through his. This was new to her too. Perhaps the keys of Christine's love were turning the locks on other doors as well? She studied him, unabashed, and he did the same in return. He deciphered it. Appreciation and loyalty too, rested there. Why had he not seen it before? Had it always been there? On some level he must have known, but now the knowledge rushed at him like water freed from a breaking damn. It disarmed him momentarily; he did not know what to do. She took the lead.

"Christine's performance last night was absolutely splendid. She is talented, no doubt, but you have done such beautiful work with her." He dipped his head slightly. "Thank you, she is indeed talented."

"Ms. Andre and Firmin have bequeathed to her their illustrious support, or I should say the queues and the resounding clinks of the coins falling into their coffers have permitted their enthusiastic endorsement. But no matter, either way, they recognize her worth. Now, during this slower part of the season they have suggested that we keep the interest in Christine alive and debut her over the next several weeks in abridged performances." Erik became suddenly very alert and a flame danced in his eyes.

"Excellent!"

"Firmin and Andre support Carlotta's taking time off to coddle her voice to rid it of its croakiness. Mysteriously, she has readily agreed! Shock over that one was passed all around."

The corner of Erik's mouth twitched uncontrollably as they exchanged looks that revealed merriment. He became serious again,

"You were saying?"

"They have proposed that since Christine's name has been plastered all over the papers of Paris we should exploit her newfound fame."

Erik frowned. "Has it?"

Mme. Giry produced the paper. "It has. And look at this, speculation about the identity of her teacher is rife. 'Great' teacher, that is. You are famous by default, Erik. No doubt we will be forced to grapple with that not too minor point some time in the not too distant future."

"Yes." Erik said deep in thought. "How do they propose we exploit her 'newfound fame'"?

"The wealthiest patrons will be given special invitations to preview well-chosen arias especially to showcase Christine's voice. They will then choose from those presented for the next season to be shown in tandem with small operettas to round out the evening. Since they have a voice in the presentation they would presumably take ownership in the patronage and their own loyalties toward the Opera Populaire would grow, along with their donations" she said wryly. "Then, at the end of the season all the contributors would receive exclusive invitations to a huge gala, the Masquerade Ball."

Unexplained anxiety crashed over Erik like a dark wave, and then like a wave, gathered and rushed away, but spread momentarily into his awareness. He cast it aside since now was not the time to analyze his thoughts. Excitement stepped up in its stead. When she caught the renewed spark in his eyes she continued,

"Could I importune you to write arias specifically to exploit the expansive range and perfect timbre of her voice? Nobody knows of her gifts more intimately than you do. However, a word to the wise, they want the first performance in two weeks."

"I could do that for you. Yes it would please me greatly. "

He already had about twenty he mused to himself. Yet, arias written starting now, with her voice just beginning to blossom into maturity could emphasize her unique talents perfectly. What magic would be wrought upon their unsuspecting minds!

"Erik?" Mme. Giry's voice called him out of his reverie. His eyes focused on hers.

"So that means you'll do it?" Her voice was tinged with excitement.

"Yes."

She clasped her hands, "Erik that is wonderful!"

Again he was taken aback, though pleasantly so.

He smiled and said, "I would like, however, to ensure that Christine concurs with our decision and that she is of sufficiently strong constitution to take on the additional load. I prefer not to answer for her. I will discuss it with her when we meet tonight to be certain she hasn't concerns of which I am unaware. Tomorrow then?"

Mme. Giry became aware of the depth of love resting in his eyes as he spoke about Christine and found it very endearing.

"Yes. Tomorrow then. Anything else?"

He leaned away from the door frame and his balance was centered, his robes hung down from broad shoulders and gathered and swayed gently in long strokes at his ankles. He was straightening his glove on one hand with the other and staring at her, his green eyes intense with thought, but he was silent. Puzzlement crossed her face. She said,

"Erik, is there something else?"

Finally he took a step closer and said,

"Yes, there is something else. Something that should have been said long ago. "

His face was intensely serious. Mme. Giry stared in suspense, wondering what was to come.

Feelings thrown into hibernation years ago to protect him against rejection and heartache stretched awake and came to life in his heart.

"Thank you for taking me with you that awful day so many years ago and bringing me here. I owe you my life."

Mme. Giry replied earnestly, "You've given it all back and then some, so let me also thank you."

The sound of Christine's voice swelling into the rafters from below broke their mood.

"Until tomorrow" he said as his head glanced in the direction of Christine and then back a moment toward Mme. Giry. Subtly he winked at her and then stepped back and whirled away from her office, strode to the railing in the rafters, and stopped to listen to Christine's voice. His cloak gathered at his ankles and flew forward and then fell back in rhythm with Christine's voice, which was copied from the master's stride as it matched Christine's tempo in natural sync.

That night when he went to Christine it was later than their appointed time. The mirror slipped open to reveal a pacing Christine, her silken brow knit in angst. When he slipped through the widening slice between the mirror and the wall into her dressing room she gave a little cry and flew to him with arms outstretched and skirts flying and slipped her arms under his cloak and jacket to rest tightly around his waist.

She dropped her head on his chest to listen to the sure and steady rhythm of his beating heart. His clothes clung with the perfumed scent of burning candles and leather and filled her nostrils alluringly. He let his cheek sink against her corkscrew tresses while his hands caressed her neck and slid down between her shoulder blades reveling in the satin feel of her skin against his fingertips. He had shed his gloves several corridors ago in anticipation of touching her skin. His beating heart overflowed with devotion, though the languid grace of his easy stance gave away nothing.

The sound of her muffled voice floated out from his waistcoat, "I'm so scared when you are late. I think you won't come to me." She continued holding him tightly in her arms.

"What happened before, won't happen again. There is no need," he said.

She turned her face up to his in surprise, her eyes round. "Was there a need before?"

"You, my love, had me quaking in my boots," he said while he pushed wayward strands of hair out of her eyes with long fingers.

She said incredulously as she gave her head a little shake "I had you quaking in your boots? Why did I have you quaking in your boots?"

He bent down close to her, meeting her at eye level with his hands resting on her shoulders and said "Because you captivated my heart." His cloak spilled all around her feet.

She hugged him fiercely, kissed the perfectly placed dimple on his chin and grazed her lips over his, and then drew back to admire the sensual curve of his mouth and the arresting green eyes.

His lips flashed into a smile under her gaze. She loved his smile!

"If ever I can't come, I shall send you some note of my intentions."

"Do you promise me?"

"Yes, my love, I promise you."

She continued to caress his countenance with her eyes and enjoy its beauty. It unnerved him somewhat since he wasn't used to others staring at him out of pleasure. His eyes fell to her lips. He reached out his hand and let his thumb run along her bottom lip, thrilling in the idea that it was no longer forbidden to kiss her. How long he had waited! A dreamy look slowly came over her features. He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around her; her head fell back against his arm and her eyes closed. He bent to kiss her tenderly. Her arms wrapped his neck and her lips responded eagerly, hungering for the taste of him. They made naked her love.

He thirsted for her lips, and her heart as he drank from the well of her affection. The water was cool, crisp and sweet. Slowly the fiery thirst that had burned his throat and parched his lips for years had begun to be slaked. The pain vanished, but the desire grew stronger. Reluctantly they parted, he touched his forehead to hers and said

"I have much to tell you and we have much to talk about tonight. Have I come too late to take you back with me?

The quickness of her response made a smile jump to his lips.

"A pack of hungry wolves couldn't drag me away from you" she said as she clasped him tightly against her body again.

"I'm a little uncertain. Is it a 'yes' then?" She caught the mirth in his eyes and laughed while she continued to hug him fiercely around the waist.

"Yes!"

They made the journey to his home in silence, simply enjoying the proximity and presence of the other. When he finally leapt from the boat and lifted her to firmer ground his speech became animated as he cast his cloak in an arc to the ground. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace nearby, a testament of his having been there only recently before he left to claim her.

"I have been writing arias for you today that will display the exquisite quality, timbre and expansive range of your voice."

"My voice?"

"Yes, Andre and Firmin want to debut you as the new diva over the next several weeks."

The fire reflected the excitement in her eyes. "Oh, Erik is that true? Are you certain?"

"As certain as I can be."

"How wonderful!"

"But Christine, we will work many long hours, it will be more taxing than anything we have ever done. Are you sure you are up for it?"

"Will you still instruct me?"

"Always, my love."

"Yes! I want to love your compositions with my voice and give them to the world!"

Disbelieving his good fortune that she loved both him and his music in equal measure, his gaze turned toward her sweet face where the love of a woman and the round innocence of youth both still resided. Love mingling with gratitude filled his eyes.

"Come, sit with me."

He clasped her hand and led her to his huge pipe organ and handed her down to the bench and then gathered together some sheets of music that were scattered across the top. Some pages were replete with notes, some half way, and others just begun. Finally he sat next to her, his thigh touching hers.

"Listen, my love."

The strains of his organ filled the air with a beautiful mix of elation and yet notes of something mournful punctuating its underlying base. A transient bliss underscored with permanent angst studded sorrow. She sat transfixed, mesmerized. Its beauty astounded even her. When he finished she exclaimed,

"That was more beautiful than even I imagined it would be!"

His brows rushed together. "Truly?" She nodded, wordlessly, her eyes wide with truth. He read the earnestness there.

"This is the melody you'll be singing."

He played it. She turned, partially to sing for him and partially to watch him play. He became one with the keys and his body leaned in response to the heavenly sounds. His eyes closed in ecstasy and Christine watched as his hands caressed his other true love. The long fingers were loving and sweet just as they were when they touched her. She returned the melody with her clear, sweet voice in flawlessly matched rhythm, sync and quality. His eyes opened in response and a faint smile touched his lips,

"Yes, my love, as sublime as you are beautiful –."

In this way they gave back and forth, one to the other. The innate timing of each was perfectly suited to the other. To outside eyes it appeared they read each other's minds, but, it was, instead the tempo of their inner rhythm that was so perfectly and uniquely in sync. To watch them rehearse was to watch a masterpiece in progress. Those who were fortunate enough to see them would swear they had witnessed a choreographed dance memorized to the last detail ahead of time, but they had seen no such thing. Their choreography was like the grasses blowing in the wind; one simply bent willingly to the other.

As the evening wore on, Erik stopped to re-pen some places in the music that vexed and Christine leaned against his shoulder. She remembered she hadn't eaten since noon; a gnawing hunger contorted her stomach.

"Erik, do you have anything to fill my stomach? It is as empty as a drum!"

"Oh, my love, forgive me, I am a terrible host. One too enamored with music!"

He leapt up and came back with a large bowl of grapes and a hearty crust of bread with butter and sat it on a small table beside the organ.

"This part in the music is in my head and I don't want it to be swept away, do you mind if I finish? But please, eat."

"No, please continue."

Christine rose, clasped the bowl to her and then sat with it cradled in her lap. She took a bite from a plump purple grape and sweet juice exploded deliciously into her mouth. She watched him as he leaned over the keys penning the notes with his brows rushed together and his lip curled downward. She brought a grape to his lips and automatically he accepted it from her and nodded slightly, barely being drawn away from his concentration. She ate another and offered him another, which he accepted.

He seemed to anticipate the next since his lips parted before she had lifted the grape from the stem. He accepted another in the same way. Finally he sat back, quill in hand and the corner of his mouth tugged as he watched her. She stood, set the bowl down and gathered a cluster of the grapes. He opened his arms to her, inviting her to crawl into his lap. She placed a grape between her teeth and offered it to him. He put his lips around it, kissing her as he accepted it. She ate one of her own, and then offered him another in this way. He lingered over the grape this time and then took it from her with his tongue, drawing it across her lips as he did. She took another grape and held it more tightly in her teeth while he teased her lips and teeth with his tongue before finally snatching it from her.

The sweetness of him and of the grapes stirred her senses with happiness. His composing captured his attention again and she became captivated by the beauty on the side of his face that was unmasked as he focused on the sheets straight in front of him. The word exquisite rushed into her mind. Awareness of her unfettered gaze wound a trail into his mind and he turned toward her self-consciously. The contrast of her white satin skin and dark hair captivated him as her beauty surged into his eyes. He gazed at it longingly: the translucent skin, the round shining brown eyes, the thick mane of gleaming dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders and twisted riotously down the length of her back. She bit into another grape and continued her perusal of him.

"Why do you stare at me with such intensity?" "Has my mask slipped away?" He touched his mask with his fingertips to ensure it was still in place and sighed with relief. She offered him another grape which was readily accepted and then answered

"Because you are beautiful."

The grape shot from his mouth into her lap. She picked it up and put it into her mouth. Amusement crossed his face and then disbelief, which was soon transformed into a wild vulnerability. Pain flicked in his eyes. The muscle at the side of his jaw worked. Finally he asked,

"Do you jest?"

"Indeed, I do not!" She slipped off his lap and put the grapes aside. "Come, see what I see."

She led him by the hand to a large mirror enshrouded in the folds of a heavy cloth. She began to pull the shroud aside. "Christine, stop," he commanded.

She ceased her tugging and went to him; the shroud hung all askew and then slowly slid to the floor, hitting it with a thump followed by a plume of dust. The two of them could be seen in the mirror together facing each other. She peered into the darkly vulnerable aquamarine pools. What is it my love?

He searched his feelings; what did he fear? His mind tumbled back to the jeers and taunts from when he had been cruelly paraded as the devil's child. It had left an indelible mark; the pain could still be discerned. Did he dare trust her? She slid her hands around his neck and kissed the hollow at his throat and sensitive corner of his mouth.

"Trust me my love." His eyes widened, it was as if she had read his mind. He allowed her to lead him up to the mirror. She pushed the heavy cloth aside with her foot. Another plume of dust rose and fell like a cough. It was clear the shrouds had been put into place many years before. He stared at his mask-clad appearance and screams still flooded his ears, blinding him to his true reflection. He stifled the urge to cover his ears.

Then Christine's soothing voice surged through the din like a salve and he heard "The side unblemished is beautiful, far beyond that of ordinary men."

Something within the long forgotten folds of the memories in his mind stirred. He said

"Christine, my mother used to say that." A far off look – "I had forgotten," he switched his eyes to hers, "until you."

The past joining hands with the present extinguished the screams like a silver cup smothering the flames of a candle. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. His arms enfolded her in his embrace and he glanced into the mirror and caught glimpse of them as a handsome couple, cradled in each other's arms; it was the side of his face unmasked that faced into the mirror. It startled him; he was indeed handsome. Sadness washed over him like tears of rain, he knew he could not ask something that selfish of her. She said

"We make a handsome couple."

He replied as he hugged her tightly to him, "How I wish it could be so!"

Christine's mouth dropped open and her eyebrows rushed together. She pushed his arms away and her eyes flashed. He misinterpreted.

"But – I – I would never expect such a thing!" he reassured.

You must not love me! She retorted.

Confusion reigned. No! Christine I do, so very much! Was she saying she wanted to be his? he wondered. A melee of feelings he didn't take the time to interpret crashed over his heart.

"Christine, the world would never allow it. This face brands me a criminal in more ways than you know." He spat the words. "I could no more leave theses cellars than a prisoner could leave the dungeons. That would make you a prisoner too. I couldn't bear it!" Though he also knew, deep in his heart where he kept the feelings safely sequestered, he couldn't bear to let her go.

She said, "No! There must be a way!" She jerked her arms, her fists were clenched.

"I wouldn't put you in danger at the Masquerade Ball, let alone the light of day. Far too much risk in that." And I have Mme. Giry to think about.

"Why Mme. Giry?" Her brow creased. Then the rest of his words met her understanding. She grabbed both his arms at the elbows and stared up into his eyes.

Ball? What Ball? When?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you yet did I?"

She watched the dancing green eyes intently.

"What didn't you tell? Please tell!"

"About the Masquerade Ball. At the end of the season, the one we've been discussing to showcase your talents, the managers and Mme. Giry are throwing an extravagant ball for all the patrons, dignitaries and cast members of the Opera Populaire. A huge affair. It's a 'thank you' to the contributors.

Christine pictured herself waltzing huge circles in the ballroom with Erik while he held her close.

"But you're a huge contributor!"

"It's not quite that simple."

"But you'd wear a mask just like any other, no one would know. Do you not now how to waltz."

"Of course I know how to waltz!"

He whirled her gracefully around the floor several bars. She caught a glimpse of them gracefully dipping and swaying together in perfect rhythm in front of the mirror. Her heart quickened with excitement. She had to convince him to go with her! The grace and ease of his movement despite his size titillated her and pricked her desire sharply. She threw her arms around his neck and pleaded,

"Please, won't you take me with you? It's a Masquerade! You could come easily."

"No, Christine, I could not. My experiences with the public have not been friendly. And there may be people in attendance who would just as soon see me dead, and who would stop at nothing to make it happen. I would rather die than put you in danger. What's more, if ever my mask is removed, as you well know, I am not always in the best control of my faculties. That I abhor."

She hung her head in shame and nodded. That he would use that against her stung her womanly sense of pride. Her cheeks flushed red. She knew she had done wrong; would he never forgive her? His blatant refusal was injurious, but his bland throwing in her face of her cruelty toward him before humiliated her severely.

"You are being mean to use that as a reason for not going with me," she flung at him. He glanced at her sharply and she could see that he was genuinely perplexed but in her anger she chose to ignore it.

Why don't just say you don't want to go with me! "You'd probably rather I went with Raoul!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, and pain flashed in his eyes. There she had hurt him.

Sorrow swept over her and hot tears jumped into her eyes. How she hated to hurt him but he had hurt her first by saying they could never be a couple and then by refusing to go to the Ball with her.

"Christine…no, that's not what I want!" his voice was choked with pain. "But do what you must to be happy. That is all that matters." She saw him dash his wrist against his eye out the corner of hers as he walked dejectedly back to the organ. I only wish for you to be happy and safe. "

"You are so mean!" She'd risk all to go with him and didn't understand why he wouldn't risk all to go with her. She didn't realize that his risking all entailed so much more than her risking all. Why would she not be safe? And who would unmask him? It didn't make sense. He would let her go with Raoul? That hurt worst of all.

"Mean! How am I mean?" He was uncertain how to proceed since he ardently wanted to give her her heart's desire but feared more having to take back the words. He hated making promises he could not keep more than he hated her despair, though the one was very close to rivaling the other.

"All right then I'll do what you want and go with Raoul. I'll probably be stuck with him anyway, now!" She knew she was being ridiculous and things were spiraling out of control, but in her pain coupled with her sixteen years she could not stop herself. Erik bent over his hand at the organ as if he wept. He nodded, which inflamed her anger further.

Suddenly he rose from the organ bench and came to her, and then bent to gaze earnestly into her eyes with his hands held gently, encircling just below her throat. She was right he had cried.

"Christine please – do not be angry with me over this. I know what I'm doing. There are things you don't know – "

He wound her into his arms slowly but she pushed him away.

"Erik, you are hurting my heart!"

He held her gaze but did not give in to her wishes. He hated her wrath, but even more he hated not knowing how to soothe it. He turned away and walked back to the organ and was gathering the music when she said through hot tears "Take me back to my room. I want to go back now."

"All right Christine, as you wish," he said sorrowfully. "Please let me fill in these last two bars and I will take you, though your absence will be sorely felt."

"No!" He hesitated a moment and then dropped his quill to comply with her wishes when he heard her voice and the sound of splashing behind him as she said,

"Then I'll go myself." He whipped around in time to see her splashing into the water toward the portcullis and the boat.

Christine. No! Alarm twisted his handsome features into a grimace of sheer fright. He knew what lay beneath as one drew closer to the portcullis. The water was chest deep when she slipped and went under. Slippery moss and long plants that grabbed at feet and yanked them down had been planted during the days of the Paris Commune. One of them had Christine now. And the mosses had collected like the years and blanketed the bottom making it as smooth and slippery with no more traction than ice. Getting up was nearly impossible. All he saw was a flurry of hands and feet that soon vanished. Unless he got to her she would drown.

He thrashed into the water and then dove in after her and swam long strokes near the bottom where he saw her tugging and pulling at her foot. He swam to her ankle and uncurled the vine and then crushed her against him to curtail her flailing. He hauled her back to the banks where fear buttressed his strength and he lifted her through the water that spilled away from her like a waterfall. Blinking and sputtering, she clung to him. He walked with her held in his arms up the embankment of his home and then let her legs slip down to stand but she fell on the bank, floppy and still gasping for air. The water was icy cold and her teeth began to chatter. He bent and said

"I must find something to dry you off with and make you warm."

He set off swiftly in search of a warm blanket, shedding his shirt as he went. He dashed the moisture from his skin at the fire so he wouldn't make her cold. He was fully absorbed in his bending and searching for a blanket when he glanced over to see she was now standing and peeling off her clothes and beginning to reveal a beautiful nakedness. The white skin glistened with moisture. It arrested his movement and for a moment he stood motionless and staring with his eyes riveted and then swiftly came to his senses and snatched his cloak and leapt to her to drape it around her shoulders. He pulled the cloak tight and then held it closed with his hands while she stood there shaking.

"Christine," he said softly, "you can't do this."

Hurt and anger filled her voice and made her bold. "Do you not like to look upon me? I love you and I trust you."

"Well I don't trust me!"

"Now it is my turn. Do you find me ugly?"

"My God, Christine, no! Goddess comes to mind!"

Christine stood with his cloak draped around her; it hung in folds and gathered in a large mound around her feet. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close against him; her wet hair sent little rivulets of water running down the skin of his chest that had been dried by the meager fire. He rubbed his hands over the contours of her womanly form, reveling in her nakedness under his cloak. The smooth, taut contours enticed him like an addictive drug. Not trusting her, or himself, he reached the other direction to grab a towel with one hand for drying her hair while with the other he clutched the cloak together to keep it closed. He placed the towel over her hair and was blotting the moisture from it when he said,

"My dearest, your sweet innocence pains me greatly. Believe me, your beauty astounds me. I want to take you in my arms, and draw my hands over every inch of your silken nakedness and drown your lips in mine. I will say no more –" His eyes held a faraway look as he spoke, "But the time is not yet."

His eyes again captured hers, whose were already fixated on his and sparkling with rapt attention. She shivered, though not from the cold.

"Oh my God," he said, "I can't have you here with me all night tonight." Nor did he feel secure enough to have her out of his sight.

"But you can't go back all wet, or clad only in my cloak."

Her teeth had stopped their chattering as she had snuggled close in his arms. They felt strong and secure around her.

She said, "Erik, may I please remove the rest of my wet garments?"

"Yes, but hold the cloak here and I'll be right back. I need to find something to shield you."

He held it until her hands replaced his. He left and poked through his things, at last he found what he sought. He walked toward her with a large woolen blanket crushed against his chest, and bulging over

his arms. She pushed on each side of the cloak and let it slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor in a low thump. He caught another glimpse of her silken nakedness since she let the cloak fall before he was able to lift his arms and then suspend the full length of the blanket from his uplifted arms to hang as a barrier between his eyes and her beauty.

When she was ready he draped the blanket upon her shoulders from behind, turned her around to close it, and drew her against him. Her teeth were chattering again. He bent his head toward her and slowly rubbed his palms beguilingly up and down her back. His scent filled her nostrils and the sound of his beating heart and low breathing, her ears. She abandoned herself in his warm embrace and marveled that fortune was with her when she found the voice that had washed over and caressed her all those years belonged to this sensual and loving man. How lucky she was to have found his love, and how dearly she loved him back.

And how mean she was! Shame flooded her heart.

He encircled his arm about her shoulder to keep her wrapped and walked her over toward the hearth. The night had grown late.

"I'm sorry my fairest love, I fear I have no choice once you are dry but to keep you here tonight."

She peered up at him shyly through a veil of dark lashes.

"I want to stay with you."

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. "It certainly didn't seem that way a moment ago."

She looked askance at him, with her head dropped toward the floor. "That was so very foolish, mean and selfish too. Will you forgive me?"

"How could I not forgive that you wanted only for me to be with you? That would not be very magnanimous of me now would it? And perhaps I'll consider the other."

Her head popped up. "Oh! You will?"

"Yes."

Her heart soared. She lunged forward and threw her arms around the whole width of his arms as they hung down and his chest, pinning his arms beneath hers, and rose up on her toes to kiss his mouth, while, unbeknownst to her the blanket slipped toward her waist. "My dearest Christine, how your love doth torment me," he said part in jest and part in exaggerated seriousness between her kisses, but nonetheless, allowed her naked chest to be pressed against his.

She stopped and quickly gathered the blanket around her again. He'd had enough torture for one night she decided. "Come, sit at the hearth by the dying embers of the fire, to warm yourself, and stay wrapped up," he commanded as he turned while stepping away and pointed a long finger toward her, "I'm going to hang your clothes.

She sat on the hearth by the last vestiges of warmth emanating from what was left of the nearly spent and blackened logs that had burned brightly earlier in the evening and snuggled into the blanket that smelled faintly of him. She watched and waited as he bent and then stood and then bent again gathering her cast off clothes that littered his floor and hung them one by one to dry near the smoldering black logs laced in sparkling orange.

When he was done he sat down on the bricks beside her and gathered her into his arms while he slid his hands up and down the length of her back. She still shivered slightly, from the cold water, at least she thought it was the cold water. Though he made her tremble too. The rumble of his voice reverberated in her ear against his throat as he said with concern, "You still chatter."

He wound her more tightly into his arms and rocked her body against his while he kissed the silken hollow at her temple. He drew away and looked into her eyes.

"Are you going to be warm enough?"

"I am warm in your arms." She turned her eyes to meet his. "Please don't make me sleep all alone in that big scary clam thing. It's unsettling." He wavered, wanting to keep her warm and make her safe, yet fearing the thing from which she was most unsafe was himself.

"It's a Phoenix. Will you promise to keep yourself safely wrapped within the blanket then?"

"Yes, of course." She meant it.

He rose and walked with her in the crook of his arm to the bed and then helped her get positioned and comfortable while still wrapped securely in the blanket. He climbed in beside her and wrapped his body around the blanket that wrapped her; they huddled together like two silver spoons. He stroked and wound one hand through her drying tresses while she lay upon the other arm as her pillow. Under the hypnotic dance of his fingertips she tumbled a steep descent into the land of slumber. He luxuriated in the warmth of her body pressed against his and finally fell asleep himself.

He lurched awake, his ardor overflowing and intense, and left her bed. His departure invaded her dreams and she was thrown back to the time when her father died, leaving her desolate and alone. She awoke with a start and called for him, her voice edged in panic.

"Erik?"

She loved the sound of his name. "Erik, my love, where are you?"

He appeared, a hazy figure taking shape out of the darkness, and walked toward her, the pale skin of his chest contrasting with his dark breeches, and his dark hair parted and hanging long at each side of his face, cutting a stark line against his white mask.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep are you well?"

"Not without you near me. Please come, let me hold you and caress your back to relax you."

"I'm afraid that would simply make things worse."

"What things?" She genuinely didn't know.

"Nothing."

He swung down beside her. She faced him with the blanket covering her chest but at her back it fell away the length of her back. He drew her body close and caressed long fingers over the exposed silken skin. His lips covered hers in warmth and tenderness, his breath tickled her cheek. The touch of his fingers sliding slowly against her back and his gentle lips caressing hers softly, but insistently, wound their way through her mind like a narcotic. She stretched and wrapped her arms around his back and caressed long, gentle strokes, over the smooth naked skin. She had been right; her caresses relaxed him like a soporific wine. Soon they were both sound asleep, each held in the arms of the other. A delicious, deep sleep blanketed them in tranquility and kept them both safe and secure till the dawn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Christine awoke the next morning with the pleasant scent of Erik stealing into her awareness as she lay encircled within his arms. Her cheek softly pressed the downy matting on his chest, tickling her skin. She turned her nostrils into his smooth skin and breathed in deeply to fill her lungs with him, and then kissed an abundance of kisses like butterfly wings against his breastbone while she snuggled against him and entwined her legs in his, sighing contentedly. How wonderful it was to wake up cozily against his warm body and secure in his arms.

Erik stirred and his eyes slowly slid open when the sound of crashing miniature cymbals met his ears. The first thing he saw was a tangle of curls on the pillow beside him and the first thing he felt were full lips against his breastbone and slim, silken legs slipping between his, intimately, as far as the fortress of the blanket would allow. Love bloomed like a rose in his heart and he drew Christine close to his lips to kiss her forehead while he slid his fingers over her cheek and into the tangled mass of hair at her temple; his thumb lingered upon her silken skin, stroking her cheekbone. Several wayward tendrils crisscrossed over his hand. His other arm rested beneath the hollow of her neck. The green eyes replete with both the wonder and the despair of the world rested upon her and drank in the sheer pleasure of her proximity. The pleasure of it was far greater than that of the pain. She placed her hand over his as it rested on her cheek, and smiled. Twin fires of devotion danced in her eyes.

Since he had proven to himself he could hold her nestled against him all night and still keep her safe he hoped there would be many more nights like this. A cold, lonely bed juxtaposed to one with her in it now seemed repugnant and intolerable. He reveled in her soft warmth and her affection. He thought hard and wondered when he had ever slept so deeply or so sound. He should have done this long ago but he had never imagined, even in his wildest dreams, that she'd be so receptive to him. Then again, she was very young, less than half his age. Perhaps the timing had been perfect after all.

Instinctively he knew she was not yet mature enough for him to expect such a thing as consummation, which brought its own torment, but, he loved her deeply and she kept his solitude and the sting of loneliness staunchly at bay; right now that meant everything. He lifted the veil of wayward curls that crossed this way and that in front of her face away and pushed her back slightly with his finger against her breastbone to fall against the pillow and then bent to touch his lips to hers, his chest pressed against hers, as she lay beneath the blanket.

Her arms wound around his neck eagerly as she closed her eyes and waited for his touch. The heat of his mouth plucked hers tenderly. It enticed her. Tingles burst throughout her abdomen like a bundle of long-stemmed flowers clutched in the palm of a hand. Her lips parted to let him inside, and her body writhed beneath his, pleading for more of his kissses. Her responsiveness ignited his desire like a flame. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on his forehead telling him it was time to part.

Suddenly, he drew back, allowing his eyes to linger on her countenance a moment longer before he rolled away, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Her hand drew a line along his naked back that followed from his neck to his breeches as he rose from the bed and then walked away from her. He crossed the floor lighting candles along the way to rid the cellars of the darkness that still swirled into the dim light. Christine watched him across the room as he bent and lit the morning fire, far removed from her. The smoke was carried out through the chimney that led into a vast stairwell and easily dissipated into the capacious area. Before long he returned with two steaming mugs of sweetened tea and baguettes that dripped with honey and butter. She accepted hers gratefully.

As Christine popped the last bite into her mouth and took the last sip of tea Erik said "Your clothes are dry, but I'm afraid they will be harsh against your skin. Unfortunately they are stuck in their positions. Your surprise dip in the water didn't seem to agree with them."

Her eyes jumped to his. She laughed at his description of her watery defiance and he smiled in return. He reached out his hand and drew her tangled hair through his fingers and said

"And your curls still have flecks of leaves in some places too." She looked sheepish. "Come, I have something to show you. But first, take my jacket to cover yourself. I'm going to need the blanket. I'll turn away while you dress."

He held out his jacket to her and she took it tentatively with one hand while the other held the blanket shut. He turned away with barely enough time to miss her dropping the blanket to the floor. She slipped her arms into the jacket and pulled it around herself. He turned back to face her. What he saw made him smile. The jacket hung in folds around her, nearly wrapping her twice and the broad shoulders dropped almost to her elbows, but it did what it was meant to do. Her wild curls tumbled and twisted over each other, spilling over her shoulders and down the length of her back and her creamy skin gleamed in contrast to the black jacket while her dark eyes shining from under long lashes caught his shyly. He bent to snatch the throw from the floor where it gathered at her bare feet.

"Follow me."

He led her off to an area she had not seen before hidden behind the fireplace and next to the where the lake emptied into small stream, which he had used to his advantage as a small pool for bathing. Pipes siphoned off the water into a holding tank which was heated by a fire beneath it and then allowed to run into the pool area as needed. Smooth stones lined the bottom and sides and then another layer on one side made for a place to sit. Towels draped a rock bench and a sack torn open with a large clump of soap sat next to them. A fire which had obviously been burning for some time smoldered beneath the reservoir.

"Touch your toe in the water."

She complied. "Oh Erik, it's wonderfully warm!"

"This is where you may rinse your hair and skin, mademoiselle, if you'd like."

Her eyes were large and shining.

"May I get in now?"

"As soon as I hang this blanket for you."

He hung the blanket over a rope he had suspended for the very purpose of giving her privacy. Why put himself in a state of torment he reasoned? She began unwrapping the jacket while he hung the blanket. It shocked him that she trusted him so. It was endearing. Though he did let visions of the partial nakedness he had witnessed the night before to fill his mind, unabashedly, in their entire splendor. Why refuse the gift she had so generously imparted?

A soft splashing of water alerted him to her entry into the water. She sank down into the warm water onto the smooth stones that lined the border and sighed blissfully as the water crept up to her neck.

"Erik, this is magnificent, blissful, and wonderful. How did you ever think to do this?"

"I have had a lot of time on my hands, remember, to be inventive, to write music, to read, and the like?"

"I think you are the most amazing man alive."

Their voices continued back and forth through the blanket.

"Other civilizations have done such things as well as ours also seems to be striving toward such endeavors." His voice held a smile.

"Oh." Right now she didn't care about other civilizations. "This must be why your scent is always so pleasing."

His brow creased in question and his voice revealed astonishment. "Is it?"

"Yes, you always smell wonderful. I love it so. It makes me want hold you and kiss you."

"That's something I won't soon forget. I use the pool chiefly for relaxation but I'm very happy to find out it performs other functions as well."

She caught the amusement in his voice and automatically turned to glimpse sight of his smile, but he was hidden from view.

"I'm going to collect a pair of my pants and one of my shirts for you to wear back to your room. Unless you prefer to wear the crunchy ones."

"I want to wear yours."

Footsteps against stone died away behind the curtain and then also heralded his arrival again a few minutes later. He returned with the clothes and draped them over a chair he placed next to the makeshift curtain.

"They are here when you are ready."

Not long after, she emerged reluctantly from the warm water and wrapped her body in one towel and her hair in another. Erik watched as his clothes slid off the chair and disappeared. She donned his pants and shirt and then stepped around the curtain to show him her attire. The pants draped her slim waist and hung below her feet, causing her to walk on the fabric. The shirt hung long and dropped open low. Amusement swept across his face and mirth danced in his eyes. He stood watching her, hands resting on his hips, until she stood before him; he reached out and unwound the towel from her hair, blotted her hair gently, his face serious, and then cast the cloth aside.

"Something must be done about that shirt."

He left to rummage through some personal items and then came back with one of his cufflinks to fasten the shirt closed.

"This will have to do."

Their eyes met and each held the gaze of the other while he finished fastening the shirt closed for her. An electric current crossed between them and they embraced. She turned her face to his and he kissed her lips tenderly. He bent and held her against his arms and kissed the satin skin along the path from her throat to the cufflink. His lips burned against her skin and sapped her body of its strength. She clung to him, powerless in his arms. His arms trembled. She could have hung helpless in his embrace for eternity but he brought her to a standing position and clasped her against his chest to steady her and let her regain her wits. The wild beating of his heart pulsed in her ear.

"I'd better get you back to your room, and your rehearsals my love," he said breathlessly. "I wouldn't want to incur the wrath of Mme. Giry."

Her face was imploring; she did not want to leave his embrace. It pierced his heart and etched tiny grooves into his resolve, but he did not give in.

"Has Mme. Giry ever been mad at you?

"No, and that is exactly as I intend to keep it."

Back in her room, Christine turned the events of the night before over in her mind. His tenderness toward her was like a long delicious, backrub that soothed as it tickled her senses. While she shed the clothes he had loaned her and donned her own, she thought of the strength of his hands, yet the tenderness of the touch. His unwillingness to exploit her youth and innocence. His protective ministrations. His patience. Every alluring facet of him was winding its way into her heart. And it was seductive. Though she doubted he even knew it. She felt a wild urge to give herself to him, but was unclear on exactly what that meant. She only knew she trusted him wholly and completely and always wanted him near. She tugged on her last ballet slipper and scampered from her room to rehearsal. The morning grew late.

Christine still wore both hats, since she had not formally replaced Carlotta. To appease Carlotta the managers presented Christine as less than an equal who would understudy Carlotta's parts while her voice mended. This wasn't true, but Christine had to be eased in slowly to avoid Carlotta's wrath. And right now, for some inexplicable reason, Carlotta was being unusually cooperative.

Trading back and forth from chorus girl to understudy for Carlotta and back to chorus girl again was exhausting, though Christine loved performing more than anything. Anything, that is, except Erik. Thoughts of meeting Erik in the evening hours filled her head and energized her. When she rehearsed she knew Erik lurked in the back halls or rafters and sometimes Mme. Giry's office. It was him for whom she sang. Her voice overflowed with passion, sensitivity, and tenderness as it swelled throughout the domes and rafters of the opera house. When she sang a hush fell over everyone like a blanket as her cohorts quieted their voices to listen. But none listened as did Erik; her singing pierced his soul with its message and engraved itself upon his heart. Later, with perfect clarity he would recall each note and together they refined her rendition; she with wide eyed trust in his expertise and he with patience and love, and never sharpness or cruelty. There was no need.

Later that morning, Erik bent over Mme. Giry's desk as he peeled off one aria after another from the pile of sheet music he held in his hands and set them one at a time on her desk explaining each one as he did. His cloak hung off one shoulder, gathered in folds on her desk and then spilled to the floor.

"This one has a livelier cadence, while this one has mournful undertones, but this one is more likely to weave lingering trails of serenity into their hearts and minds." His long fingers pressed the paper flat as he drew lines of explanation across the sheets of music.

"If the audience leaves the Opera Populaire in this state of tranquility often enough, they will begin to connect the pleasurable feeling with the Opera Populaire. Then, at its inevitable passing, they will be left bereft and craving more."

"Yes, excellent strategy."

"And, there is one other item of business."

Christine's voice replete with passion and longing began to swell from below. Erik stopped mid sentence, cocked his head to listen briefly, and then resumed the conversation.

"We must replace Buquet now while the performances are not as elaborate. That way the new stagehand will be thoroughly conversant with the position and all it entails when the shows expand to a more lavish scale. "

"Yes, agreed. Another good strategy."

Erik became aware that silence filled the opera house. Christine was no longer singing. He straightened and his cloak snapped to its full length and swayed about his ankles.

He said, "Till we meet again."

Erik touched two fingers to Mme. Giry's arm and then disappeared from her office but outside in the corridor he surged toward the railings and then stopped short to assay the silence. A wave of rage followed by jealousy crashed over his heart. The magnitude of it shocked him. He stumbled back, and clutched his chest and then under dint of sheer will straightened again to watch with forced calm. A vision of Christine and Raoul clasping each other's hands and laughing as they stood together below assailed him. His brows rushed together with the thought why won't he leave her alone?

Mme. Giry appeared in time to see lines of pain and white-hot rage etched across his features and upon glancing further beyond him she understood its source. Her heart contracted in empathy of his pain. His pain may as well have been hers, though she was powerless to do anything about it. While a Vicomte by title, Raoul was a king by wealth, and not a person to be trifled with. And definitely not one wanted as an enemy to the Opera Populaire.

Her face revealed alarm when she touched his arm and asked "Erik, are you all right?" To which he replied "No, not now, but I will be. Don't be alarmed." She nodded and left him, after she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, respecting his privacy.

He dropped his face in his hands and rubbed his skin as he summoned every last ounce of willpower to the fore to wrestle aside the unpleasant emotions. He berated himself for letting them get the best of him, and then reminded himself harshly that he had no right to her to begin with, forgetting momentarily despite that he had no right, it was what she wanted. It was her gift, he continued to chide himself, but one to be given freely, otherwise, it ceased to be that. Still, once again surreptitiously, he watched, riveted. Tall, imposing, and alone he stood, a stark black figure cutting a silhouette of sorrow against the shadowy backdrop. He could not rip his eyes away from the scene unfolding below.

Raoul had stopped by the theater to give his RSVP personally for the exclusive showing of the 'Patron's Event.' He seized upon any chance to see Christine in person. As he crossed the floor Christine's lilting notes, laced with passion and feverish longing, reverberated throughout the opera house, and arrested his step. He watched her, enthralled and heard the emotion in her voice. It enchanted him. She glanced toward him while she sang and for a moment he thought the passion was directed at him. He wished, wholeheartedly that it were.

When she finished he strolled to her and clasped both her hands in his and said, "Very beautifully done, you have no rivals."

Christine was tongue-tied at the generous praise, instead her eyes caught his and she laughed with embarrassment. He did cut a fine picture to her eyes; that could not be denied: the hair of gold, the confident air, the impeccable dress and easy manner. Something did stir within her, but whether friendship or fondness she couldn't be sure, though it was not love. The key to that chamber of her heart had been spirited away by another and lay beyond reach, safely sequestered and sheltered by a love as unchanging as the sea.

Raoul, emboldened by her laughter, asked "Could you break away from your duties and go on a carriage ride with me about the grounds?" Christine, taken off guard, stammered "Y – es."

By now, Mme. Giry had made her way down from her office and approached the couple. Sorrow for Erik washed through her but she knew for the sake of the well-being of the Opera Populaire she must give Christine her blessing and trust that she could handle herself in the situation. Christine glanced up and glimpsed sight of her phantom in the shadows. She detected a look of anguish, which struck her smartly, and his pain clutched her heart. Christine stared back over her shoulder as Raoul led her away, wanting to tear her hand from his and rush to Erik, but she squelched the urge.

Raoul reached out his hand and lifted Christine into the carriage. The day was unusually warm and pleasant. They settled against the seat together. Raoul sat close to Christine. He smelled clean, though not alluring like Erik, and was completely at ease as he guided the reins while he spoke to her.

"Does all this recognition please you?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's not really the recognition I crave. I love expressing myself through music and sharing music with others. Music lifts the soul and captures the essence of our emotions. "

Respect gleamed in Raoul's eye. Again he wondered who is her suitor? Did she lie to him about a suitor to prevent his taking her at her time of budding stardom he wondered? Well, he would certainly be happy to move aside and let her have her day. Secretly he hoped she had made it up since then there would be hope for him.

They talked of their lives and the missing years. What began as a break stretched into an afternoon, though the time passed pleasantly. Christine enjoyed their friendship and trusted that he did too and so was surprised when he asked her to dine with him. By now she was aching to see Erik.

She declined, "Thank you Raoul, but I'm afraid not since my rehearsal schedule is very heavy and I have already been gone with you a whole afternoon."

He was disappointed but not ungracious and returned her to her practice shortly after since his parents would be waiting for him to eat dinner together. The minute she returned to the halls and hollows of the opera house, all thoughts of Raoul fled from her mind. She glanced above to spy the one she loved, but he was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment and faint lines of worry creased her forehead. She wished desperately to see him, even if it were only a glimpse it would assuage the aching need. When she finally left rehearsal to return to her room there was still no sign of Erik.

The urge to dash in and snatch Christine from Raoul's grasp and take her away crashed through Erik, but he, instead, whirled away from the railing and strode the secret chambers that led deep down into the cellars. Thoughts of making her his bride and taking her to his bed tumbled menacingly through his head. He feared he may never get the chance, and fear drove his thoughts. Blinding anger that he could not give her the things Raoul could flooded his heart. Why did it have to be so?

Fear and anger had become his overseer and he knew it. Fear could never be love's true companion, he reasoned. If there ever was a day his bathing pool was needed, this was it. Once he stepped upon the grounds of his home and threw down his cloak, he began discarding his clothing along the way, one article at a time. Finally he threw his mask aside in anger, though it was the thing that made it necessary and not the mask itself he hated, and stepped into the warm water, letting it wash over his body and its effects his mind to free it of the clamoring emotions that rankled. How dare he want to control and hurt her! It disturbed him that those thoughts had assailed him like vicious dogs snapping at his ankles. Who did he love: himself or her? The question vexed and kept darting to the surface of his conscious mind to taunt, each time adorned in a different mask.

Finally the soothing waters coupled with his powers of reason subdued the petulant emotions wracking his thoughts. Consciously he decided to savor every moment with her, and let only the purest affection, not jealousy and fear, be his guide. He climbed from the pool with the water sluicing in streams from his glistening, taut skin, and began drying himself off. Exhilarated, he felt pleased about his renewed conviction to subjugate selfishness to that of her contentment and freedom. He leaned back and brought the towel to his face. His face! The cause of so much pain. He dropped the towel to his legs and rubbed them dry, then threw the towel aside.

The silhouette of him cast by the fire's light made the artistry of the Greek Olympians trite. The imperfection in startling juxtaposition to the beauty added to the intrigue. A statue carved by nature and imbued with life, though he knew none of this. The broad shoulders, the shapely well-muscled legs, the flat stomach, and his dark, thick hair parted and hanging to his chin all but caused the blemished side of his face and skull to vanish from view. The black hair and brow framed his green eyes like a picture and made them glow. The memory of her telling him she liked his scent earlier suddenly made him smile. He ached to see her, but the late evening was hours away. He donned a shirt and a pair of loose pants and sat down at the organ to play. The strains were hypnotic, beautiful, and replete with feeling. His other love mended his tattered emotions like a soothing balm. The time passed quickly.

Then, at dusk, when he could stand it no longer, he left his music and strode through the corridors with single minded purpose in search of her. He found her after rehearsal and several hours after her carriage ride with Raoul just rounding the corner into her room. The orchestra was still playing and its strains floated throughout the halls. Her mouth dropped open and surprise danced in her eyes when he stepped through the mirror.

Without a word he clasped her against him, tilted her face up to his and stared into her eyes, simply enjoying that she was with him once again. She breathed in deeply his scent. How wonderful he smelled!

"Let's go see Paris!" he said.

"What?"

He clasped her hand, beckoned to her, and led her away through the back corridors and up to the roof. The swells of the orchestra still in full swing below filled their ears as they walked to the border of what was the roof, but now the ground beneath their feet, to sweep their eyes over the view of Paris. The city was bathed in the glow of the early gas lamps and fires. He moved her in front of him and dropped his arm to make a 'V' across her chest with his hand resting in front on the opposite shoulder; rebellious curls twisted and tickled against the skin of his jaw.

Their bodies began to sway almost imperceptibly to the rhythm below. The lights and the glow of the city began to blur as the awareness of his body against her and the music wafting from below lulled her into a trance. She was under his spell. The stars blinked one by one into the sky and shimmered as if some cosmological being turned them on again and off in syncopated fashion.

Suddenly she turned in his arms to face him and their bodies in perfect tempo resulting from their perfectly attuned rhythm began to sway in movement. He lifted her arm with one hand and encircled her back with the other and then began to guide her in slow waltzing circles around their spot as he had the evening before. He watched her eyes to garner their response and then whirled her with the swelling crescendos boldly around the whole size of the roof to the music below.

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly, "You do waltz so wonderfully. How is it that you know how?"

"I learned as a child," was all he would say as he watched her face with eyes that sparkled. She was surprised all over again that a man of his stature could move so fluidly and gracefully. Her heart felt like it would burst.

Before long the swells of music dimmed and then became a melee of discordant sounds as the rehearsal broke apart. Their waltzing slowed as they walked a lingering circle around each other and then stopped while the eyes of each held the gaze of the other. His smoldering green eyes blazing with desire burned a hole in her soul. Tingles darted little trails throughout her body, sparking devotion and igniting desire. She wanted him to want her. Why didn't he? A red blush spread across her face and she dropped her eyes. He lifted her chin and said

"What is it my love? Are you well?"

Her tongue grew heavy and thick. "No" was the only word that would form upon her lips. What should she say? I love you wildly and want to lie with my naked body against yours while you hold me in your arms? No! She couldn't say that. They weren't married. Her face flushed again.

He stopped their circling, impervious to her thoughts, and drew her against the length of his body with his arms encircling her back tightly. His lips brushed her hair. She melted against him, reveling in every inch of him, his scent, his touch, his warm lips on her hair, his firm body pressing against hers. The lighting around her slowly dimmed and she began to sag against him; frantically he clutched her to stop her descent to the ground.

"My love, please tell me, what is wrong?"

"I – I must be fatigued from the events of the day, since I am doing a double rehearsal and have been without food many hours."

It was true but in her thoughts she mused, your love is intoxicating? That was certainly what it seemed. As he held her close with his cheek resting against her curls strength suffused her body and returned to her limbs.

He drew away from her, bent to peer into her eyes and said "Are you sufficiently recovered?"

She said "Yes," though she wondered if she would ever be fully recovered in his presence.

"Then let us retire, a chill is in the air. I don't want to add to your burden any further."

She said, "I assure you, Monsieur, you are no burden."

He was leading her toward the door to the stairs and glanced back swiftly to assay the seriousness of her words. Flames that burned with devotion lit up her eyes. The intensity shocked him and spirited away his words but gladdened his heart after the day's torturous events. They left the roof in silence.

Swiftly he led her through the twisting corridors back to her room, as he clasped her hand tight. A movement caught Erik's attention and he glanced off to the side into one of the halls and caught sight of Carlotta and Piangi holding one another in what could only be considered a romantic embrace. That could be exploited he thought to himself, though it surprised him the vision of them together lifted his soul, and not just because it could work to his benefit. He nudged Christine and nodded in their direction. She turned to look and then glanced back at Erik, her eyes shining and wide. Both smiled at their secret.

He pushed aside the mirror as they entered her room together through the widening slice and said

"Gather your things. I want to hold you close against me in my arms tonight as we sleep in my bed."

This night, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight. He was confident she would be safe with him in his bed, since he had proven to himself he could do it. Her heart filled with glee; there would be no need for plunging into rushing rivers or begging tonight. He wanted her with him! Suddenly she felt shy and a little nervous. Why the change of heart? Did he intend to sleep with her the whole night through? She remembered he had said "close in my arms tonight as we sleep in my bed." Yes! He did intend that. She shivered with excitement.

He ran his hands slowly down the sides of her arms and stopped when he clasped her hands and said "But only if you desire it." His eyebrows arched in question and his eyes probed.

Suddenly shy, she looked up at him through veiled lashes, "Yes, I'd like nothing more than to be held against you as we sleep tonight." His eyes lit up.

"Have you gowns from which to choose?"

"Yes."

"May I see?"

She led him to her boudoir and showed him the collection. He sorted through her gowns and finally held one suspended that seemed perfect. It was close fitting but not tight. Filmy but not sheer. Intimate but not erotic. The perfect gown for a virtuous night. And, yet, one that would still let him get some sleep.

Once back at his home they dutifully rehearsed their pieces but both seemed in anticipation of something else since tonight he did not correct his music, nor did she playfully crawl into his lap as she often did. At the end of her singing he turned to her, one hand playing into her tresses and asked

"I almost forgot your state earlier. Are you in need of nourishment?"

As soon as he asked she realized how hungry she was and how long it had been since she had eaten. "Yes, I'm famished."

"You may get ready here while I prepare us something to eat."

He carried a screen over and set it up near the bed for her to dress behind.

"While you get ready I'll prepare us something to eat. Come to the hearth when you are ready."

Behind the screen she pulled on her gown, suddenly realizing how little protection it offered. From afar she watched him stroll to the hearth carrying a tray laden with crusts of bread, soft brie, dark red wine and Crenshaw melon. He set the tray next to the fire and then turned his attention to the screen. Her slim form emerged from behind it. His mouth dropped open. The gown had been a mistake. It was far sheerer than it had appeared and it revealed every curve and contour of her figure. She walked toward him in what appeared to be slow motion He could not stop staring. He took a step back and sank down to the hearth in time for her to slip into his lap. She ran her hand through his hair as she kissed his mouth, softly at first and then hungrily. Every corpuscle of awareness sprang to life. The food sat untouched. He wanted to run his hands over every contour and swell of her body, but did not. Finally he held her face and stopped her, "You are going to faint if you don't eat." And so am I, he mused to himself. She held his face in her hands in return and touched his lips with hers one last time before slipping from his lap, her bare feet alighting the ground softly.

Though hungry she almost felt too nervous to eat. She wasn't used to being invited to his bed with him in it. She ate a little bread and cheese and drank some wine but concentrated heavily on the sweet, juicy melon. Before long he set the tray aside.

"Come, my love." He held out his hand to her and she grasped it, and then he delivered her to the bed.

"I shall follow momentarily."

He left as she sat waiting and then reappeared clad only in loose breeches, smothering several candles along the way. The muscles played under his gleaming skin in the muted candlelight. He swung down beside her and coaxed her body against his and then gathered her against his chest, wrapped her in his arms and entwined his legs in hers. She could feel the warm, bare skin of his legs against hers. It awakened her senses, which had become sharply acute. Sleep fled. Lying in his embrace was wonderfully satisfying, but it did not induce sleep.

The fingers of his free hand caressed her face and played into her hair as it spilled a chestnut stain across the pillow. She stroked the smooth skin of his naked back with her fingers, though at times the smoothness seemed broken with skin of a different texture. She wondered about it until her thoughts were chased away by warm, tender lips that sought hers. His lips touched hers in slow sensual kisses on her mouth and earlobes, and along her throat, but did not travel lower since he wanted her to trust him and feel secure when she was with him in his bed. Never did he want to scare her and risk losing her love. It was not easy, but his love for her made it worth it. He fell asleep before she did. She luxuriated in his arms for some time before falling asleep too.

Once he awoke during the night to find that his hand had strayed beneath her gown to drape low upon her naked back and with effort he started to move it but she stopped him as she hugged his neck and said "No, you needn't move, it's warm and pleasant."

He lazily tickled her back with long fingers, enjoying the feel of her satin skin. Both soon again tumbled into a deep contented sleep held tightly within the embrace of the other.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Golden fingers of sunlight stretching across the sky heralded the morning and found Erik enfolded around Christine with his chest pressed against her back and his legs curled into hers. Her unruly mane tickled the skin of his cheek and her faint fragrance of delicate rose slowly wound a trail into his senses cajoling his mind into wakefulness. His thoughts floated in rapturous contentment as she slept soundly within his embrace.

But rapture soon split into feuding factions of desire and devotion, which for the moment could not peacefully coexist. He lay there, with her body nestled against him, at war with himself. At the first opportune moment he cast the net around the butterfly of devotion and held it in place; for now, he reminded himself his desires would have to be wrested aside and subjugated to her youth and naiveté, though that didn't make it any easier.

Holding his desire for her in check this morning had seemed especially hard. The urge to slip his hands over the contours of her body assailed him, but instead he crossed his arms over her more tightly to still their movement. What was he thinking bringing her to his bed anyway? The monster in him drove him to take such risks. How he hated his ugliness! And how he loved the way she made him feel when she turned eyes of affection at him or did not shrink from him in disgust, but instead touched and caressed him freely without fear or revulsion, as if he did deserve the love of another after all. It was almost a lifetime since he had felt such things.

The devotion in her eyes smudged away the suffering and numbed the pain that still smarted all these years later from that awful time when he was terrorized by the keepers of the fair, beaten, and callously paraded in front of others as the devil's child. What would she think if she knew? He stifled a shudder, and pushed the cold, dark thoughts from his mind.

He pressed his lips into her hair and dropped his hand to the small of her belly and caressed her. She stirred and shivers of desire swept through her body. She placed his hand on the uncovered, silken skin beneath her gown. This time it was he who shivered, but he did not remove his hand.

Nor did he take liberties, though he caressed the bare, satin skin more intimately than he ever had before. Her body responded warmly to his tender touch. It was loving, gentle, and wonderful for them both. By sheer force of will he stopped, and simply held her, unsure of her expectations.

Abruptly she turned in his arms to face him and hugged his neck; the abrasiveness of his jaw and chin scratched against the translucent skin of her cheek. She reached up and curiously drew her fingertips over the sand papery contours of his chin and jaw. His green eyes were alert as she explored. Suddenly he seemed to her so very much a man, with all the attendant pain, longing, and sensitivities that such a status confers. Not an angel, not a phantom, but wonderfully human. A human also meanly denied the things of which humans crave and thrive. A question burst into her mind like a flower in bloom and then jumped to her lips,

"How is it that you love so well?"

For a moment the emerald eyes studied hers to decipher what meaning of 'love' it was she wished to examine, but the shining brown eyes earnestly searching his revealed only the purest desire to learn. Finally he said with his tone turning serious,

"I have known love Christine."

Her mouth dropped open and shock leapt into her eyes. Jealousy stabbed her heart.

"Who?"

"I once knew a mother's love."

"Oh!" Shame flooded through her, and then relief. "Do you remember your mother?"

"Yes, much like you remember and honor your father."

"How long ago? Do you remember much about her?" The questions tumbled out.

He touched his finger to her lips. "Patience my love and you shall know."

She placed a kiss at his fingertip and he continued, "Yes, I remember a great deal. I was with her until after the tenth year of my birth."

She fell back on the pillow trying to imagine Erik at ten years of age. "You were? I didn't know!" Christine's brow creased in wonder. Curious eyes caught his again. "What was she like?"

"She was gentle and loving just like you."

Christine, suddenly bashful, let her eyes drop from his, and then again tentatively met the penetrating darkly green ones that continued to hold hers, waiting. Unbeknownst to Christine, feuding behind his was the question of what he should reveal, and in what sequence or time.

"I remember that she sang. Her voice sounded beautiful to ten year old ears. And she danced – at night when the townspeople would gather by the fires for plays and festivities. She was kind and pretty. I worshipped her. She worked as a governess in the smaller provinces."

"Did you look like her?"

"I don't recall, though I know she had dark hair like mine. I remember that men admired her, but she paid them no heed. I was all that mattered," his voice trailed off. And then "It was so long ago."

Tinkling cymbals began to crash and roused them both from their pondering. "Where did you get that monkey and your little barrel organ?"

"That story, too, comes from home and hearth."

"Please tell!"

"You are a curious one aren't you my love?"

"Anything about you is of interest to me" she said as she wound one arm around his neck and touched her forehead to his chin. His hand caressed her hair.

That answer seemed to satisfy. "It was a toy from my childhood that my mother had given to me, after much pestering on my part, one birthday. Later it came to signify all the happiness and security I had once associated with my mother and our home, though I've since rebuilt it because it took quite a beating at the fair when it was kicked from my hands. What anguish that caused!"

"I'm sorry my love," her voice was filled with sorrow.

He folded his arms behind his head as he fell back and continued speaking in his reverie. "Sometimes that little toy was all that got me through the loneliness of those dark days. Death seemed a welcome release, once I realized I wasn't dead and in hell already."

"Hell? Why hell?"

"That story is for another day." Suddenly he felt exposed and vulnerable. Ugly. Repulsive.

"I don't know why I pressed on. There was something – ." His green eyes captured hers and the glow of devotion swirled in their windows. "And now, waiting for you, loving you for so long, and then finding that you loved me too," he rolled toward her again and let the fingers of one hand play against her temple while letting his other arm slide beneath her to pillow her head and wrap her in its embrace, "Every step of terror and torment I would gladly retrace if it meant you and your love would be there to greet me at the journey's end."

She hugged him close and kissed the sensitive hollow she loved so much at the base of his neck. "And how glad I would be to greet you."

She thought a moment and then said "Who took you from your mother and why?"

"I can't answer that. I know none of the whys or wherefores. It's a mystery to me too."

He sighed. "The day grows late and there is much to do."

She was disappointed at his signaling the end of their conversation since she eagerly took every morsel of information he offered about himself and his history, but she sensed he had delved as far back as he could bear into the black days of his past. She closed her eyes and reveled in the play of his fingertips and then kissed the vulnerable hollow at the base of his neck one final time before reluctantly releasing him. How she hated when they had to part!

He gave her a little push as she lit from the bed and jumped to the floor ready to take on the challenges and surprises that lay in store for them both. The days sped by, one folding into another in rapid succession, as they led inexorably toward the "Patron's Event." They passed swiftly but happily with Christine rehearsing her parts during the days, and Erik lurking behind the scenes, an unseen but prominent figure in molding the final outcome of each showing.

He listened to her voice as he worked and remembered with perfect clarity the tiniest nuances to be reworked. Because his ear captured what another would miss, and because his soft spoken gentleness with Christine as he expertly guided her voice during their rehearsals at night inspired rather than intimidated, their pairing produced music that truly lifted the heart. The smallest reworking refined her swiftly growing artistry.

Although he took their rehearsal time as a time for seriousness and concentration, she often did not, lacing their time spent with conversation and sometimes play, but he was patient and loving toward her need for such things. Because of this he discovered she was a person of many dimensions and witnessed each as it unfolded. He marveled that it was even possible, but he grew to love her more.

She enchanted and enticed him. And she was endearing. He marveled at her affection toward him, her trust, and her openness. She was like a narcotic that soothed, an aphrodisiac that excited, a lover, a confidant, and a playful friend. But as his love grew, so did its danger. But for now, he put aside his fears and immersed himself in the glory of their union.

A few days before the scheduled "Patron's Event," Erik was striding toward Mme. Giry's office, his cloak rising and falling about his ankles, when he caught their agreed upon signal as her hand flew outside the opening of the door, alerting him to the presence of another. Her ears keen to his step, had listened for the harbinger of his approach. Quietly Erik stepped into the the shadows that hid him, but also let him observe within her office. She spoke to a youngish, very polite man whose wild looking eyes seemed out of place against his obsequious demeanor. Immediately Erik distrusted him.

But Erik mistrusted men more often than he did women since his days at the traveling fair had sullied his ability to discern the truth so he often subjugated his judgment to that of Mme. Giry. He trusted her. But this man, he really didn't trust. Soon he saw the man tip his hat to Mme. Giry and quickly step from her office. Erik waited a moment and then strode noiselessly inside.

She said matter-of-factly "That was M. Gauthier – the managers sent him to me as the best prospect with the most impressive resume for taking over Buquet's position. It all checks out, and the managers are eager to hire him."

He asked, "Would your hire him without their impetus behind it?"

"No. There was something in his demeanor I didn't trust, but I don't know that that is a legitimate enough reason not to hire him, since he has the credentials. Not to mention that he is one of only three on a very short list."

"Yes, I see your point. And cooperating with M. Andre and M. Firmin is nothing to snub."

"Then do you agree we should offer him the position?"

"Yes, though not immediately. Let's ensure we have no other contenders. But if not, we have no choice with the new schedule of this season so soon upon us."

"All right, then I will keep you advised of the situation."

"Fair enough."

The Opera Populaire was a bustle of activity as the performers, singers and dancers alike, frenetically prepared for their roles in the fast approaching 'Patron's Event.' Though Christine was to be spotlighted, her performance was punctuated by those of the chorus girls to lighten her load and give her voice respite between each rendition.

Working closely with the other girls and Meg always lifted Christine's spirits. She enjoyed the camaraderie and loved the girlish subjects they bantered about. She missed dancing and wondered if she would ever want to fully relinquish it. Though taxing, right now she loved playing both roles and her natural humility was not over shadowed by the grandeur of her talent. Rehearsal had run late this day and Erik himself was absorbed behind the scenes readying for the show.

Toward the end of rehearsal one of the girls revealed that her beloved had given her a ring of engagement. Everybody surged toward her and several heads formed a circle and bent to admire the stone and congratulate her. Suddenly thoughts of Erik as her husband some day danced delightfully in Christine's head. She could not imagine herself with another.

With the rehearsal that day running beyond its scheduled time and her parting from him growing long, the thoughts of Erik suddenly made her feel the sting of his absence. She glanced above in the rafters and whirled in search of a glimpse of him. She caught sight of movement when he let her know his whereabouts as his black outline changed to grey and then emerged briefly as a person with the full light of day falling upon his countenance. Her eyes flickered their happiness at the sight of him. He quickly jerked his head toward her room to signal that it was their meeting time and then melted into the blackness once more. While the girls ogled the ring she slipped away.

She rounded her door just as he was slipping through the widening slice between the mirror and wall. She leapt into his arms and he whirled her around before setting her upright and then holding her face in his hands while his eyes rested upon her countenance in admiration.

The words leapt to his lips "I love you my fairest one."

Her round eyes sparkled. "And I, you." "And I think you are beautiful."

His lips twitched into the barest curl of a smile; he knew she meant it.

"Come, let us go now." He took her hand and to one watching it looked as if they had magically vanished into the mirror.

That night while he accompanied her and stopped and started again to replay and revise, she remembered her friend's engagement and excitedly stopped singing to tell him about it.

"When you signaled to me did you notice Adele had everybody gathering around her?"

He stopped his playing and turned toward her, his eyes danced with interest.

"No, I'm afraid I did not, you are the only person I ever notice."

She smiled shyly and reached up to caress his face. He tilted his face against her hand in acknowledgment and then his hand reached up and held hers as he waited for her to continue.

"She is to be married."

"I assume you think that is a good thing?"

"Yes, it's wonderful! Don't you think it would be wonderful to be joined to the one you love?"

"If that was your right it would indeed be wonderful."

Her brow flashed befuddlement, before she continued while gazing at him through lowered lashes, "I don't ever want to marry anyone but you."

He ceased all movement and stared, disbelieving as shock blazoned itself upon his features. He frowned. Did he hear her right he wondered? Did she want to be his wife? Elation and then disappointment flashed into his thoughts.

Flustered he said, "It could never be. But do you know how much hearing you say those words lifts my heart?"

She disregarded the second part and said in dismay "You've taken all your privileges as if I were your wife! And you want to cast me away!

She dropped her face into her hands to stifle her tears feeling humiliated, hurt, and rejected.

He said gently, "Christine, I have not taken all those privileges. And I would keep you here forever if I had my way, but it would be wrong."

"Yes you have! You've held me in your bed all night."

"But I have not – "

"Have not what?"

"What do you mean I've 'taken all those privileges'?"

"Slept with me."

"Yes, but it's literal."

Now she was beginning to look confused. "Yes – as married people do."

"We've not done what married people do."

"What do married people do then?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

Confusion and shock, followed by disbelief, swept across his face. She peered into his face as confusion clouded her eyes. "Don't know what?" she repeated.

He studied her carefully to take in each nuance of her behavior that followed the query. Her eyebrows rushed together revealing puzzlement unfeigned. The vast expansiveness of her innocence accosted his awareness straight on. He was aghast. His eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped up in surprise. His lips parted. He couldn't be the one to tell her _that_. She'd think he was mad! And a pig.

With great effort he managed to say calmly, "Perhaps that is a question you should put to Mme. Giry."

So, he mused to himself, every stroke of torment and torturous self-restraint had been worth its weight in gold.

But asking Mme. Giry was not necessary after all since the next day during rehearsal the girls unknowingly laid bare the secret. They were gathered together chatting and laughing about Adele's up and coming wedding night when Christine joined their circle, her ears alert.

"Are you nervous?" one asked.

Christine wondered why a wedding night would frighten any one, but after her conversation with Erik the night before the question piqued her interest sharply. One of the others giggled as she said in a teasing tone "Of course she is nervous, she is a woman of virtue."

Christine's curiosity got the best of her and she asked breathlessly "What does virtue have to do with it?"

All the girls fell silent and turned big questioning eyes toward Christine in unison. One finally said tentatively since she was not sure she had interpreted correctly, "Things change dramatically for a woman of virtue on her wedding night."

"How?" Christine asked bluntly.

Tinkling laughter behind hands covering smiling lips followed and then the appointee of knowledge answered amid her own laughter, "The woman isn't virtuous anymore!"

Christine repeated dumbly, " She isn't?"

"Christine, they consummate their union. You know, have sexual relations. Do you not know what that means?"

"No, I – I think I know, but," Christine protested, the color draining from her face and then returning in shades of pink, "That is the role of a courtesan, not a wife, I mean, except for the time or two when she wants to have a baby!"

"Christine, silly girl, surely you jest! Husbands want that all the time. Do you amuse yourself at our expense?"

Her blushing visage and knitted brow gave way her ignorance. "But – but, no that's not right, I've always heard it said men like women of virtue" she said again but this time with much less conviction.

By now the girls were roaring with laughter. "Christine, really! You honestly didn't know? Men like women of virtue until they marry them, and then everything changes. Suddenly women of virtue displease them very much."

"They do?" Christine's eyes were wide.

"Yes, they do. When a man marries a woman that is how he shows her he loves her."

Christine suddenly felt defensive though she didn't know why, "It's not the only way!"

The girl who seemed a fount of wisdom and knowledge said "Well maybe not the only way, but one of the biggest ways."

Christine suddenly felt dizzy and sat down to stop herself from stumbling, the girl's voices blurred into a murmur. She looked at the floor and gave her head the tiniest shake to clear her mind and then thought to herself, so that's what he was talking about!

Meg dropped down beside her and put her arm across her shoulders. "Don't feel bad, I thought that too, just like you," she whispered into her ear. The fault seemed to lie with Mme. Giry and her dereliction of duty.

Christine's mind was flooded with visions of herself clasped to Erik in just such an embrace. The thoughts took her breath away. It was shocking, yet also titillating. And embarrassing! Someone, she couldn't even remember who, had said virtuous women were not supposed to desire the thing, but to submit for children. But there was a part of her that did desire it, and made her cheeks burn crimson.

That night when Erik came to gather her she saw him in a new light. She wanted him. No she didn't. Did. Didn't. It seemed so reckless. Wild. And forbidden. She wanted him to touch her that way, then she didn't. It was so intimate. Was that what she felt when she thought of giving herself to him she wondered?

He sensed something was up when she didn't leap into his arms and wondered what was in store for him this night. She could hardly wait to broach the subject. She didn't even wait till she got to his cellars, but instead spoke up as the trail wound round and round, leading down. It was while they were riding the horse that she told him. And it was also while she was riding enfolded in his arms on the horse that her senses registering his nearness and his maleness were pulled taut like violin strings to the breaking point.

"I know now what you were talking about last night." His voice from behind was suddenly acutely alert. "Do you?"

"Yes. Why did you not tell me?"

"It wasn't my place. I was afraid you would think I was self serving and a liar."

"I would never think that of you."

"I didn't want to risk it."

"I can't think of a person I love more to enlighten me."

"I was afraid I would frighten you."

"You who are warm and gentle would never frighten me. Though I think it would have surprised me."

"Yes, that was another of my concerns. But all is well that ends well, and now you know." His arm wrapped across her chest gave her a little squeeze.

At the end of their journey he leapt from the boat, pushed the pole against the wall and then turned back to her, offering his gloved hand. She grasped it, and flew toward him as he lifted her easily from the boat, her slippers landing squarely upon the stone beneath in a whispered click. He ensured she was steady and then let her hand drop before he threw his cloak in an arc to the ground and then pulled off his gloves as he watched her carefully, his green eyes glittering.

His face was close to hers when he asked, "Who told you these things? Was it Mme. Giry?"

"No. I learned of it today from the chorus girls while we were rehearsing."

"What did they say?" She recounted the conversation to him and when she finished she glanced at him shyly from beneath long lashes as she stood near him, acutely aware of his imposing presence.

"Yes, it is true, that is one of the ways a man shows a woman he loves her, but there are many." He was sliding his hands slowly from her shoulders to her elbows as he spoke to her gently with his countenance earnest.

A pink blush spread across Christine's cheeks and onto her nose as she thought of herself again clasped against him in such an intimate embrace. He caught glimpse of the blush and it summoned every protective feeling he had ever had immediately to the fore. Again he secretly thanked providence he had restrained himself and had not pushed himself on her.

When his hands reached her wrists he drew her toward him protectively and brushed his lips against her hair as he wrapped her in his arms. Once more her senses stretched taut like violin strings. Her cheek rested against the fabric of his waistcoat. The familiar fragrance of leather and perfumed candles clung to him. His heart beat in her ears. The rhythmic sound of its life-giving pulse soothed her. A question gradually started to burn in her mind. Did he not love her then? He had said he did.

Suddenly she pulled back, tilted her face up to his while searching his eyes, and asked earnestly "If that is what a man does to show his love why have you not? Do you not love me?"

The eyes that sparkled like the morning dew on lush fields of green held her gaze and he replied with heartfelt sincerity "It's not because I don't love you. It's because I do."

His unwavering gaze forced hers to drop. He spoke the truth. She slipped her arms tightly around his waist and rested her cheek once again upon his chest. Every ounce of him filled her senses – his tender touch, his enticing scent, his firm body pressed against hers, and his gentle voice when he spoke to her of matters of the heart. The timbre of his voice resonating deeply within his chest began to fill her ears as he asked "Is it something you would want?"

"Yes! I mean no! I mean I don't know! It's so intimate and – and intimidating," she replied into the ruffles of his waistcoat. He said soberly "It's nothing to be taken lightly. There is much that must be considered." And then to himself he thought especially for one so naive, and whom I love so dearly.

He broke their coupling and grasped her hand and led her to a seat on the hearth next to a fire that scarcely smoldered. He stoked it with cut wood to chase the gathering chill from the vastness of the room. The tall figure, broad of shoulders, bending with lazy grace to heft the knotted logs, straightening to full stature, and then bending again before the illumination of the crackling flames gave him a dreamlike appearance. The orange glow cast from the writhing flames playing off the sheen of his skin, his glowing green eyes, and his black hair as it fell crisp against his white mask made him look as if he really were her 'Angel of Music.'

She sat quietly watching him, enjoying the vision he cut before her, while she basked in the warmth from the growing flames. Was he beautiful because of the kindness of his heart? Or was he just simply beautiful? She no longer knew. When the fire was full and crackling he stepped over and dropped down beside her. She wound her arm in his and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Are you certain then, that you love me?" He turned to stir and prod the fire one more time as his features bathed in the surreal orange glow, grew serious, and he replied frankly "I'd give you my life if you asked for it." That settled, her mind turned to other matters.

During their rehearsal later that night, the brunt of knowledge burst upon her awareness full force as the numbness from the initial shock bled away. She couldn't do _that_ she thought. Not with _him_. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed and much too risque. No wonder he hadn't wanted her in his bed at night; it all made sense now. And now he did!

As their rehearsal wound down, other troublesome thoughts plied her cognitions. Now that she knew about it would he expect it of her? Oh, God, did he want it tonight? Her eyes popped open wide. She grew quiet and her insouciance fell away. The change in her demeanor was not lost on Erik; he was perplexed since he could not connect it to anything that had happened between them before. Did she think he didn't love her? That had worried her earlier. When they had finished he took her in his arms, tenderly kissed her lips and then kissed a path along her throat to the skin above her bodice. Oh God, she thought, he does want that tonight!

Very slightly but not imperceptibly to him who was so keenly attuned to her responses she shrank away. What was this, he wondered? Whatever it was it hurt. His arms slipped away.

Her wide-eyed gaze turned to his questioning one and she said, "Um, uh, my need for sleep is about to fell me, I think you had better take me back to my room."

That surprised and stung. And made the desire to be near her bloom larger. He was baffled. What had happened? She was much too lost in her own thoughts to notice his discontent.

Her mind continued to fling about the worrisome thoughts. Perhaps he wanted to show her he loved her. Tonight! She was much too scared to sleep with him in his bed now. And she would _never_ disrobe in front of him again she decided.

But he wanted nothing of the sort; not without her enthusiastic endorsement and consent. He wanted only to have her near and hold her nestled close in his arms; though he dutifully complied with her wishes and took her back to her room. Taking her back was harder for him than it ever had been not to love her when she was in his bed.

When he left after dropping her off, he took the light of the room with him, along with the warmth and feelings of security he engendered. She felt cold and alone. Suddenly tears caught on her lashes and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. But it was too late, he had already gone.

The next day was the big event. The "Patron's Preview" was upon them. The Opera Populaire was a bustle of activity from morning till night. Christine caught a glimpse of Erik high above and each stared a lingering gaze at the other. His departure had left a gigantic hole the night before; she missed him fiercely. She was dying to entwine her body in his, and kiss his soft lips, or banter with him about the day's events, and play.

He on the other hand, still smarted with the sting of rejection and feared terribly the loss of her love since his painful past amplified hurt beyond that of what others felt. Still he left her a rose tied with a blackribbon, a token of his love; though he did not see her bring it to her lips in a kiss when she picked it up.

That evening the "Preview" went beautifully. Christine sang as sublimely as if she had been some ethereal being. She sang for Erik, though he did not know this. When he saw Mme. Giry after the throngs had begun to dissipate he asked "Which did they like?"

She said "You didn't hear? They loved them all equally. They said the music was some of the most beautiful they had ever heard and refused to reject a single aria." She waved a stack of papers with check marks upon them before his eyes. He stood staring at her, stunned, motionless.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and said "Erik, did you hear me?"

"Ah, y – es." He still couldn't believe it was real.

"Congratulations, your music was a smashing success. Did you hear the applause? They went wild. And, by the way, I appended the name 'Erik' to the pieces, I couldn't justify 'anonymous'."

"Thank you" he said looking stunned as she gave him a quick hug while he stood ramrod straight, still in shock.

Christine rushed to her dressing room hoping to see Erik but Raoul appeared instead. She almost groaned aloud but she hid her annoyance. Raoul hugged her and enthusiastically congratulated her.

"Your performance was breathtaking. And who was the composer? The musical pieces were absolutely mesmerizing and so beautiful. We couldn't decide which to choose so we chose them all!"

Christine's heart exploded with pride for Erik. She laughed heartily in her excitement for the recognition of his work.

"We only know that his name is Erik!" she said.

"Well, wherever you found the pieces, it was a treasure trove; they were very impressive both in their scope and depth of emotion."

He clasped her hands as before and said "I suppose you couldn't dine with my family tonight?"

She could not even fathom being away from Erik this night too. She frowned, "No, I'm sorry. I cannot. I am very tired though I thank you."

Erik strode through the winding corridors toward the mirror in Christine's dressing room wondering if she wanted to see him. He fervently hoped so. His desire to see her had grown into a pulsating ache. As he approached he saw Christine in her dressing room with Raoul. Will he never go away? he wondered irascibly. Christine's laughter fell like tinkling musical notes as she spoke to Raoul in wonder. Raoul clasped her hands and she didn't resist him; in fact, she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.

This went on for some time before the sting of last night's rejection and the scene unfolding before him became too painful to bear. "Insolent boy" he rasped through clenched teeth beneath his breath. Anger washed over him and he made up his mind while watching Christine rest her hands in Raoul's. Quickly he turned on his heel, his cloak rending the air in surprise, and strode resolutely away from Christine and toward his home, without looking back.

Minutes later Raoul left too. As soon as Christine had closed the dressing room door behind Raoul she raced to the mirror and tugged it aside with both hands, fully expecting to fling her arms around Erik, but he was nowhere to be seen. She walked into the dark corridor and whirled about and then peered ahead as if her ardent desire for him would command one of the ghostly shadows to become Erik. But the corridor was empty. Fear clutched her heart. Where was he? She couldn't bear being away from him yet another night.

The desire to see him had mutated into a painful hunger hours ago. She returned to the dressing room with her eyes cast down, picked up the rose he had left her earlier and derived a small measure of comfort from it as she breathed in its fragrance. It smelled faintly of him. She lay on the couch in the dressing room, curled into a ball and waited for him. She lay there alone in the darkness a long time, clutching his rose in her hand, before finally falling asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Erik bolted upright out of slumber with his breath bursting from his lungs as his dreams released him from their stranglehold. In panic, he turned to touch feverish hands over the linens in search of Christine but the bed was cold and empty. She had come to him in his dreams again, her white robes whipping violently and her hair wild from the winds, which left his thoughts swaddled in dark foreboding.

Trembling hands rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes while the memories from the evening before blazed into his head like illuminating rays of light. He sank back onto his pillow as panic gave way to awful regret. An empty gloom gathered around him like smoke curling off the flames of a fire.

Why had he been so foolish he chided himself? However hurt he felt watching her hold Raoul's hands with apparent glee, it didn't compare to the barren wasteland in his heart right now without her nestled contentedly against him as she slept. How much he wished for her happiness but how hard it was watching it go to Raoul, no matter how gallantly he wrestled with selfishness desires.

He stared wide-eyed into the darkness and then thrust his body from one side to the other to get comfortable, beseeching sleep to numb the pain. But the yearning to hold her grew stronger and stronger until it goaded him from his bed. Anxious thoughts darted like hornets in his head and scoffed at any promise of slumber.

He knew what he must do; he had to see her! Even if only for a moment, to reassure himself she had not fallen victim to some madman's dream. And to fill the empty hole of loneliness in his heart that was swelling to dangerous proportions, threatening to sever the already tenuous ties to equanimity.

He donned pants and a ruffled shirt, and then wrapped himself in his cloak. He pushed fingers carelessly through lengthening hair that had begun to twist and curl as it fell close to his shoulders. The roughened visage and tousled hair falling lazily exposed a weary desperation. Last, and most importantly, he affixed his mask securely into place.

He entered the twisting passages and decided to search her dressing room first since he remembered she had slept there before and since it was first on the path. Anxiously he worried she had left with Raoul, though he knew full well it was an irrational fear. When he drew near the dressing room mirror he was astonished but relieved that he had been right: she curled on the sofa in slumber.

He gazed at her silently as he had done so many times before and then quietly pushed aside the mirror to step inside the room. The dark cloak enshrouded frame advanced stealthily toward the sleeping figure, the lazy grace unique to him was evident even in darkness in the pattern of the swaying robes about his ankles.

He stared down as the familiar form before his eyes sharpened into detailed relief and exercised its drug-like powers to soothe. A wave of pleasure washed over him. But what he saw next warmed his heart and quickened its beat. She lay there with her knees pulled to her chest, her head pillowed on her arm, and the rose he had given her earlier in the evening still clasped tightly in her hand. He thought the gesture so sweet and endearing it made him smile in the darkness.

He bent to draw trails of warmth across her forehead with his finger tips but she stirred and grasped his hand and then crawled up his arm whispering, "My love," her voice thick with sleep and then pulled him toward her. The rose fell to the cushion, giving off its sweet fragrance. He succumbed, unable to resist. She rolled against him and curled her legs into his and her fingers into the tousled hair as she kissed the gentle bow of his mouth with lips that trembled. It was a thirst that parched and one that only the touch of his sensitively curved mouth could slake. She knew in perfect detail the bow of the lips that satisfied so well.

His heart filled with happiness. She did not go to Raoul. For now Raoul was nothing more than a petty annoyance. The words "for now" reverberated in his head and he threw them aside, unwilling to examine the ramifications of what they meant.

His lips did not stray, nor did his hands though he wished it with all his heart. He remembered all too well that the latest revelation had astonished her, and whether it was welcome was still unclear. Her body writhed against his and then slowed from the sheer mounting fatigue of the prior two weeks. She slid back into slumber with her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth where the skin gathered into a faint but endearing swell.

"Christine?" There was no answer.

"Christine?" She struggled to awaken but her efforts only allowed her to loop her arm about his neck with a moan that was soon followed by steady breathing. How much he loved her, but he knew their sleeping together in the dressing room was ill advised. Gently he unwrapped her arms and body from his and slipped away from her still sleeping form. He let his cloak fall from his shoulders and under one last lingering gaze he draped it over her, and then gently tucked it beneath her shoulders.

An urge to spirit her away plied his thoughts but he tossed it aside. He smiled at the picture of her cocooned in his cloak with her curls bursting over the collar and wayward tendrils falling like a veil across her face. With a lighter heart he turned toward the mirror to leave, though he wondered if she would remember their encounter.

When dawn shooed the night away, the effects of sleep vanished like a mist from Christine's mind. The fragrance of scented candles and leather permeated her senses like a narcotic and lulled her into believing Erik's arms held her in their comforting embrace but when she reached out to clasp him in her arms they met with a tangle of heavy fabric.

Her eyes flew open as she sat up and looked down in surprise to see herself swaddled in the thick folds of his cloak, a poor substitute for him, but tantalizing nonetheless. She brought the cloak to her face and breathed in the richness of him; it made her longing grow stronger.

A faint memory floated into her now lucid mind, taunting her. He delivered his cloak but did he come to her last night or did she only dream? She hugged her knees under the cloak. The heady memory of him last night whipped her emotions into a frenzy.

If not for that frightening lake, she'd rush through the twisting corridors calling his name and swim the rivers to find him. The mysterious encounter during the night had sharpened the longing, as much as his mysterious absence after the performance. What had happened she wondered? Why had he not come to her? Or why had he come to her in the depths of the night if indeed he had? The unknown heightened the intrigue.

She rehearsed last night's events over in her mind and suddenly wondered if Raoul's visit had had anything to do with it, since he had stayed in her room longer than was usual to talk about the excitement over Erik's compositions. The she let her mind wander back through time even further to the evening before that. She remembered demanding, without preamble, that he take her back to her room. Oh! She hoped that wasn't it. Wretched fear that her thoughtless rejection had turned away his desire lunged into her mind. But, there was last night she reassured herself. Did it really happen? That was the question!

She hugged his cloak to her cheek once more. One thing was certain, he had visited her long enough to cover her with it. That must mean something! He must love her still she reasoned, but fear plucked the strings of her heart smartly since he had not come to her after the performance, which was so unlike him.

It was true, she had been mean the night before but not on purpose. It wasjust that intimacyof such a magnitude as that scared her, though the way he held her and kissed her the night before in her dreams made her tremble with desire. She hoped wishful thinking did not lead her astray. Her thoughts warred amongst themselves, but the gentle thoughtfulness of the gesture made her heart swell to bursting. Desperately she wanted to see him.

After the night had begun with a heart thumping nightmare and gathered finally into a pinnacle of bliss Erik fell headlong into a narcotic-like slumber that gave relief. But while Erik found the relief he sought he also slept far beyond his usual hour of rising. As soon as he awoke, he leapt from his bed and slipped into the warm water that awaited him. The memory of full lips caressing his, warmly pliant and yielding, broke into his thoughts pleasantly. He allowed himself the luxury of lingering on its memory before finally stepping from the water to don his attire and meet the truth face to face.

One thought vexed: would she remember? Did she love him still or only in dreams? He remembered the rose clutched in her hand as she slept; that too gave respite from angst. It must be true that she loved him! How foolish he had been to leave her, and now he paid the price.

Rehearsal was a jumble of arias and dances since the length of the program had burgeoned beyond all expectations and the order of it had not yet been decided. Christine struggled to keep her mind on her duties and several times scanned high above to search the rafters for her beloved. Was he her beloved still and was it true that he had lingered with her last night? She must know the truth! His absence the night before had roused her fears.

As the hour grew late she tired of searching and peered only sporadically, with brow wrinkled in worry, to search for him and then, immersed herself in the splendor of his compositions to find comfort. She sorely began to doubt he had lingered with her the night before.

Then the urge to see him rushed through her heart with such force that she could no longer stand the suspense. Breathlessly she excused herself and raced from the floor to climb into one stairwell after another to search above for Mme. Giry to inquire after him. She had already decided she would go to his cellars herself if she did not find him in the rafters.

When Erik reached the rafters his eyes swept a panoramic view below to discover whether Christine peered above to find him. She did not, instead she was concentrating wholeheartedly on her arias with not even a glance above; her voice sounded faintly mournful. Disappointment clutched his heart and made him doubt she remembered the evening before. Oh God, life without her affection would be like gold without its luster. He couldn't bear it! His self-assurance faltered. What had brought him joy before she loved him, now seemed drab on its own.

He strode into Mme. Giry's office, but an air of disconsolation clung to him. Immediately she discerned the difference in him and dropped everything, giving him her full attention. He sank down in a chair beside her desk, dropped his face in his hands and then rubbed his eyelids hastily to expunge worry lines from around his eyes and the misting of tears that threatened.

Concerned she asked "Erik, is there anything I can do?"

"I fear not. It's Raoul. Heis a formidable foe who has no intention of leaving Christine alone."

"Yes, that I have seen, but there is no doubt it is you who she loves." Her eyes were warm and reassuring.

Hope flickered and then died as he glanced at her. "Things can change."

"A love like that doesn't change."

He turned his eyes to hers and some comfort seemed to flow back into them. "How can you be so certain?"

"I know enough to know that love like that doesn't change." She knew because she had loved him a long time too, though she would never say as much.

Suddenly a streak of movement caught Erik's attention out the corner of his eye as it rounded the doorway with barely a sound and sprinted right at him. The streak became Christine who flew into his lap and threw her arms tightly about his neck. She dropped kisses on his cheek and the corner of his mouth and then rested her cheek on his, not even bothering to stifle the tears that sent little rivulets running down his smooth clean-shaven skin.

"Where have you been? I've been so scared." She then whispered "Did you linger with me last night? Please, say you did." She clenched her eyes shut and waited for the answer, fearing it would be 'no'.

Mme. Giry watched as a look of stunned disbelief slid across his countenance like shade from a cloud darkening the land before his arms finally wrapped her in their embrace.

"Yes, my love, I did linger with you last night."

She leaned back to read the expression in the green eyes that still smoldered with disbelief and said "Thank God! Then it wasn't just a wonderful dream?"

"It was wonderful but it was no dream."

She hugged his neck again and exclaimed "I love you so very much!" Erik stared at her in wonder, wordless.

Mme. Giry's eyes misted as she witnessed the endearing exchange and then said "I'm sorry to interrupt, Erik, but M. Gauthier is expected to arrive any minute for his final interview and I don't want you to be caught off guard. I'm going to offer him the position. Do you have any last minute objections?"

"No, only what we've discussed before."

"Yes, but I'm afraid our hands are tied since the other two have dropped off the list. One was hired elsewhere and the other is leaving town to be married so we don't have much choice."

"Do what you must then, I trust your judgment."

"All right, though I'm not sure I share that sentiment," she said wryly.

Erik turned his attention back to Christine "I'll come for you at our usual appointed time tonight. I won't be late!"

"Promise me, my love?"

"Absolutely I do." His silky voice resonated pleasantly against her ear.

She plucked the tender corner of his mouth softly with her lips and then slipped off his lap. His eyes followed her in wonder as her warmth left his lap and he felt as if he had been suddenly deprived of nature's life giving force. He wanted more of her but knew it would have to wait and so stood abruptly and said, "Now if you'll excuse me" and then whipped about on his heel and strode through the rectangle of the door, but not before he glanced toward Mme. Giry with one corner of his mouth showing the barest twitch of a smile.

His contentment soothed her soul like a salve since the memory of him ruthlessly tortured, paraded, and jeered at as a child for reasons none other than the imperfection of his face still had the power to cut like a razor on her heart.

Before Mme. Giry had time to gather her wits two apprentice stage hands appeared in the doorway and ushered M. Gauthier into her office. He tipped his hat and his eyes settled upon Christine, who still stood next to Mme. Giry's desk. His eyes seemed wild and misplaced in the otherwise placid demeanor. He had seen Christine sing and was dazzled by her performance. Working at the Opera Populaire was like a dream come true. Mme. Giry instantly read his fascination but didn't know what to make of it. She bristled reflexively since he had not yet taken his eyes off Christine and she was beginning to show her discomfort.

She cleared her throat and his eyes jumped to hers. "M. Gauthier, I'm pleased to introduce you to our lead soprano Christine Daae."

"Yes, I know Mlle. Daae. I have heard her sing. She has the voice of an angel." For some reason what he said seemed indecent, but there was no explanation for it. M. Gauthier took her hand and it appeared that he would not release it.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle." He kissed the back of her hand.

Christine drew her hand back but his hand came with it before he finally let go. Christine was becoming more flustered. She gave a tiny shake of her head, which was an idiosyncrasy Erik had come to love. He lurked in the shadows and had a sudden urge to dash in and spirit Christine safely away, but he tossed the thought aside since it wouldn't be wise.

Mme. Giry then said, "Christine this is M. Gauthier who will be replacing Buquet as the new stage hand. Christine nodded, "Welcome Monsieur" and then added quickly "Forgive me, I must return to my rehearsal" and stepped from the office to leave Mme. Giry to her business.

Christine paused and glanced back uneasily to Mme. Giry's office one last time to see M. Gauthier and then turned her head forward quickly and walked right into a gloved hand that stole from the darkness and clasped her across the shoulders in front to pull her into the shadows. The handsome visage of Erik appeared before her. He drew her toward him and kissed her forehead and then tilted her chin up and touched his lips slowly against hers, then drew away, then touched his lips to hers again. Her body melted into his.

His arms wrapped her tightly and held her against his chest. How wonderful it felt to be in his arms, while they stood in the shadows, hidden from the world. Finally she asked, "Why didn't you come to me after the performance last night? You promised you would send me a note if you couldn't come."

His lips brushed her hair and the fingers of his hand wound into her curls and stroked gently against her head. His breathing was steady and calm and his heart beat in her ears.

"I did come, but I left after I grew annoyed waiting for Raoul to leave. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself immensely, so I didn't want to interrupt." He peered down at her. Sensing his gaze upon her she picked her head up from his chest and met his eyes squarely, his arms still wrapped her tightly.

"Interrupt. Interrupt what?"

"Your enjoyment." He continued to stare into her eyes unflinchingly.

"My enjoyment was on your behalf!"

"My behalf? How is that?" His forehead creased in puzzlement.

Thoughts of Raoul fell away as she clasped her hands together and exclaimed with laughter in her voice, "Your compositions! The patrons loved them. Oh, my dearest love, finally you are getting the recognition you deserve. It's so exciting!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious and it brought a smile to his lips. "Yes, I was surprised they were so well received! But why should I be when I have you to inspire me?"

His features grew serious as he turned his eyes back to hers. She slipped her arms around his waist again and laid her head against his chest once more and said "It feels so blissfully wonderful to be in your arms again."

"It feels blissfully wonderful to have you in my arms again." Mme. Giry bustling by in the lighted passageways was unaware of their presence there in the shadows but her appearance reminded them of the duties that stretched before them.

"As much as I'd love to keep you here forever I must release you to your duties." His fingers stroked her temple with a feather-light touch as her head lay against his chest. "Until tonight then?" His voice resonated pleasantly in her ear.

She turned her eyes up to his and said with a shy smile, "I can't wait."

They parted, crossing ways, their fingertips touched and lingered, as each departed into the opposite direction from the other, she to the lighted passageways and he to the twisting dark corridors. A little later when he listened to her sing it dawned on him that a lilting sweetness had replaced the mournful strains. A change discernible to his ears only.

When M. Gauthier left Mme. Giry's office, he glanced around in search of Christine, who seemed to have vanished like an ephemeral mist. He looked at the long stretch of hall before him and his brow creased in question. "How did she travel so swiftly," he muttered to himself? She must have flown like an angel to the bottom, he surmised, but when he disembarked from the stairwells she was not there. He had hoped to lay his eyes upon her beauty in admiration one more time.

While he was finishing his final introductions with M. Firmin and M. Andre, Christine mysteriously emerged as if by magic. She seemed to be star struck and noticed no one, least of all him, as she approached the chorus girls to resume rehearsing. He gave up all hope of speaking with her again and soon turned and disappeared through the ornate front doors.

After rehearsal Christine dashed back to her room in giddy anticipation to freshen up before Erik came to get her. She donned a gown that hugged her slim form to perfection and smoothed and pinned her unruly curls into place. She wrapped his cloak about her shoulders and was hugging it close and breathing in its scent when he appeared like ghost through the hidden slice between the mirror and the wall.

"You do look captivatingly lovely in my cloak."

"I love your cloak almost as much as I do you since it is so often my substitute for you," she replied.

He had seen her breathe in its scent; the gesture charmed him. She let it slip from her shoulders, and then lifted it high to drape it over his shoulders walking behind him to smooth the folds and then around in front to close the clasps at his throat. Patiently he awaited while she completed the ministrations.

"And you look captivatingly handsome in your cloak."

Her hands lingered at his throat, her palms flat, and she smiled up at him. Affection for her flooded his heart and he wound her into his arms and under his cloak. How much he loved her! And how much he feared losing her and so put the ugly thought from his mind. His eyes caught hers, "Shall we?" He clasped her hand and together they disappeared through between the wall and mirror that widened for them and then retreated.

They rode in pleasant silence, each clasped in the arms of the other, and both sharing his cloak, but behind their pleasant demeanors furious thoughts raced. She was scared still about what sleeping with him in his bed now meant but abhorred the thought of sleeping alone in the wasteland of her own cold bed, yet another night.

Torn, each choice presented its problems; one was safe and awful, the other warm and unpredictable. While held securely in his arms, she contemplated her astonishment over sexual intimacy as a permanent resident of a loving relationship and let it tumble through her mind from every direction when the answer flashed like sunshine into her mind: Tell him.

He, on the other hand, dreaded she would develop an enthrallment with Raoul and didn't want to be blindsided with news such as that, he must be forewarned, though in the secret chambers of his heart he wished violently it would never happen. He contemplated the problem from each angle as it turned circles in his mind when the answer came in a flash of intuition: Just ask.

At the journey's close, the ponderings of their hearts had been resolved and each leapt from the boat with a lighter heart.

Later, as they sat together and rehearsed while he accompanied her at the organ he directed, "Christine, the second aria would sound wonderful if it were sung similarly to 'Think of Me'. "Listen my love."

She closed her eyes in bliss to let his voice carry her away. "Yes, my love, please sing to me. I love it so when you do."

His voice touched her soul but something about the song tonight made tears stream from her eyes as he sang:

Think of me think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while - please promise me you'll try. When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me. We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea - but if you can still remember stop and think of me . . .Think of all the things we've shared and seen - don't think about the things which might have been . . .Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do - there will never be a day, when I won't think of you . .

As he was finishing he realized drops of water fell on his fingers as he played and he glanced toward her in astonishment to see the drops came from her eyes. Her voice filled with tears and she choked the words, "That was so beautiful. Yes, I will try to make it sound that way." She started to wipe the tears from her eyes, but he lifted her hands away and smoothed the tears away himself.

"Why do you cry my love?" His brow was creased with concern.

She shook her head "I don't know. It made me feel scared."

This night their practice had also been laced heavily with conversation but while usually it was Christine who instigated and guided the conversation, tonight it was Erik. '

"There is something that scares me too. I have something I must ask you."

She forgot her tears and her eyes became round and clear with curiosity as she asked, "What is it my love?'

"I thought you seemed enamored with Raoul last night. Were you?" he asked boldly.

"No. I was enamored with Raoul being so captivated by your compositions."

He continued, "I hesitate to ask you not to fall in love with him, it seems an unfair request since his station in life and mine –" he swirled his hand above his head to show his world around him, "what you see is mine, and that is all. Though I do have a sum of money set aside, but no property and no name. Hardly a befitting standard for the woman I love more than life itself. And he is handsome as well," his voice faded away. "But, this I will ask of you – that you not blindside me with any surprises. Would that be fair to you?"

Shock filled her big round eyes along with understanding.

"Erik! I will never love Raoul. Yes he is handsome; he drives a fine carriage, and he is a gentleman who gives of his wealth to important causes he deems worthwhile, such as the arts. But you, Erik, you are the creator of the arts. You compose, your voice is rich, beautiful and full of passion, and you teach out of love and generosity of spirit; you weave a world of splendor all around you. That is the face of true beauty. That is what whispers to me and awakens my soul. Not a handsome face, a fine carriage, and a large estate."

His heart was filled to bursting; the maturity in her words startled him and made his love grow in strength and poignancy. But there was something else he had to say to her:

"As hard as it is to say this to you, I must, it is my duty to tell you, I can't and I won't keep you here. I've said before, this is my prison not yours. When the time comes, you must go!"

And then within the convoluted folds and pathways of his mind he thought to himself, and whether I live or die this cellar will become my coffin.

"That time will never come!" she cried. "It's when you talk like this that I wish you were a selfish man."

"I am selfish, Christine. You will have to be the one to do it. I won't be able to but I'm telling you now, I love you far too much to make you my prisoner. You are always free."

"Well I don't want to be free." And then, "What would you do if I did go?"

The song suddenly became apropos as he turned to face her and said with a voice filled with old memories and intense longing, "There would never be a day that I'd not think of you!"

"Oh Erik, please, let's not talk like this. I know now why that song made me so sad. You say you can't force me to stay, well I say you can't force me to go!"

"No, my love, nor would I want to. That you have freedom is what I desire. I don't want love to make me blind to your needs, and I fear that it will."

"I'm afraid your fear will make you blind to my needs." Again her words astonished him. Within her young mind resided a unique blend of wisdom and naiveté.

Suddenly she faced him and stared hard into his eyes while she clutched his arms, her fingers dug into his flesh. Panic drove the pitch of her voice higher, "Having you in my life makes me the happiest girl on Earth. Don't take that away from me. Please! Say you will not!"

Genuine fear clouded her eyes. He was taken aback by her passion. "Say it!" she pleaded again. "All right. For you I will say it," he replied, resigned to her wishes, "I will not take it from you."

She breathed a sigh of relief and released his arms, placing her hand over her heart. She then placed his hand over her heart and held it there. "As long as there is life in this heart, there will be love in it for you." He smiled, wrapped her in his arms, and dropped kisses on her temple.

Then he rose from the bench and offered his hand "Come, my fairest love, let us enjoy time by the fire."

She clasped his hand, and watched from behind as the fine form of him led her to the hearth and they sank down together in front of its crackling warmth. He wound her in both of his arms and held her against him as he pressed his cheek against her hair and asked softly into her ear, "Do you want to stay tonight?"

This time it was his turn to plead. And his intentions were pure; he simply wanted her nestled snugly against his body in his arms.

She blurted out "I – I never want to be married." Oh, this was not how she had intended to tell him. She didn't want to hurt him. He tilted her chin and searched her eyes. His eyes showed confusion at her outburst, which seemed disconnected from everything that had just gone on, and then a dawning clarity swept into his thoughts as he threw back his head and gave a raucous laugh.

She stammered, "W– hy are you laughing?"

She wasn't sure what confused her more, the heartiness of the laugh, or the fact that he had laughed at all since it was so seldom she had seen it.

"I don't think it's marriage that frightens you" he said bluntly.

She dropped her eyes and a pink blush bloomed like a rose on her cheeks. The laughter disappeared from his voice and tenderness stepped into its stead as he said gently, "Is that what this is all about?"

She was speechless, and her shining eyes big. He was slowly sliding a lock of her hair through his thumb and fingers, gently pulling it straight and then releasing it to bounce back into place as he studied her face.

When she still didn't speak he continued, "My love, do you think I would ever do anything to risk your precious devotion? There is not a thing in this world worth that. Your companionship and affection mean more to me than anything ever could. Does that mean I don't want to make love to you? On the contrary,my bodyaches with desire, but without your heartfelt consent and enthusiastic endorsement I wouldnot consider it. Without that, it is meaningless."

When I said I had not taken you because of my love for you, I meant it. That still stands, now and forever if you wish. I would never take anything from you that you did not want, or were not ready, to give." His voice was earnest and his eyes gentle.

Her heart contracted. She felt the tears well up and spill down her still pink cheeks. Her lower lip quivered. She threw her arms around his neck and said with her voice muffled against his cheek "You are so good to me. I love you so very dearly!" Then she tilted her eyes up to meet his glowing green ones and exclaimed, "Yes I want to stay!"

Fervently, he returned her embrace and held her tightly against him. He sighed his relief that she wanted to stay. Secretly he knew he could never let her go.

Reluctantly he untangled her from his embrace and brought one of his shirts for her to wear since she had not brought a gown and threw it over the screen he had placed near the bed for her before. He thought back ruefully to the days when she was much more willing to undress in front of him but decided this way was best for him too as their relationship had come up against something new. But that didn't stop him from allowing the memory of her willingness to disrobe in front of him before to dance in his head seductively.

While she pulled on his shirt he slipped away to don a pair of loose breeches and then returned smothering several candles along the way as he was wont to do. She stepped from behind the screen in his shirt and stifled a smile as she stood staring at him from beneath long lashes. He clutched her against him as they wended their way together toward his bed; their shadows reflected the dying glow of the fire's last embers with the warm glow of the room rivaling the glow between the two lovers.

In the bed he coaxed her body against his, pillowing her head on one arm, and wrapping her with the other as he caressed her back gently with the palm of his hand. How deliciously wonderful it felt to have the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin against him again he thought. He entwined his legs in hers and eagerly sought her lips. His lips touched and prodded hers gently like butterfly wings, and his tongue teasingly parted them. She clung to him and let him carry her away with his kisses and gentle caress.

Their eyelids grew heavy and their breathing steady and calm as the fire dimmed and went out. A lulling slumber wrapped them protectively in its embrace, and carried them peacefully into the dawn.


	10. Chapter 10

**Before I start the chapter let me just say thank you so much to all of you who have left way awesome, probably undeserved, reviews. They are truly, much appreciated. In fact, they are embarrassingly addicting. So, THANK YOU! Next, the story is going to really start deserving its 'M' rating. If that kind of thing displeases you, consider this fair warning not to wade into treacherous territory! Without further adieu - Chapter 10.**

**Chapter 10**

Long trails blazoning the grey sky with pink chased away the night. Erik's captivating scent wound into Christine's awareness causing her eyes to flutter like the wings of a butterfly before finally opening. Fearing some burlesque imitation cajoled her into believing she lay within his arms she searched for his visage to ensure it was he who charmed her.

His sleeping countenance filled her still drowsy eyes and his arms held her nestled snugly against him, even in sleep. She floated pleasurably in his embrace and quietly rested her eyes on him as he slept peacefully. A lock of midnight hair fell starkly across his mask and hid it from view, which clearly set off the unmarked side of his face and made him appear as any other man. How beautiful he is!

Sorrow an imperfect face consigned him to the fate that surrounded him flew through her. The sentencing seemed grossly out of proportion to the crime. She wondered where he would be if perfection had been his lot. Would it have left her arms empty? Glad relief he was not perfect spread through her, and then shame followed in its wake for her perfidy. But the fact remained, this was the way of things, and however it was he came to her, she was blissfully content to have him in her life.

She reached gentle fingertips to his face as he slept and traced the faintly scratchy skin of his beard along his jaw and across the perfectly placed dimple in his chin. The coarseness of his skin against her fingers in the morning captivated her because it meant she had awakened nestled against him in the dawn of morning's first light; the only time she ever saw him unshaven. She lifted the lock of midnight hair that draped his mask, pushed it back, and ran her fingers softly into his hair behind the mask. Without warning, he lurched from sleep, and turned wild eyes to hers, locking them in a fiery gaze. Burning rage blazed in their windows. Did she dare remove his mask again?

Startled, her hand flew back and fear raced into her bewildered eyes. Then her features relaxed into a countenance of tranquility as she comprehended the meaning of his instinctual response. Her voice became an elixir for pain as she calmly reassured him, "No my love, I will never remove your mask without your explicit permission; you have my word and my promise."

His expression softened as the raging fire in his eyes smoldered and went out; once again he slipped down to lie beside her, though no words came to his lips. The silence in the room weighted them heavily. Tentatively she lifted her hand back to his face and his eyes followed, but when he did not stop her she traced his jaw line with her fingers and then pressed her lips upon the dimple in his chin. Suddenly his arms clutched her tightly and the wild thumping of his heart pulsed perceptibly against her skin as he held her close. Did she upset him as much as all that?

Her mind was swept back to the time when she had unmasked him before and a sick nausea welled in the pit of her stomach as she wondered how she could have done something so hurtful to someone whom she now loved so much. Tears sprang into her eyes and dropped silently against the skin of his chest. How to say she was sorry for the erstwhile infraction eluded her. He slipped his finger beneath her chin, bent his head to hers, and kissed each eye softly. The saltiness of the tear-filled kiss offered up the apology for her. He traced the trail of a tear with his finger, and then reached for the linens covering the bed to dab her cheeks.

He rewrapped her in his arms with his cheek against her hair and asked "Would you like to bathe while I make breakfast my love? She nodded "Yes" through her tears. A smile touched his lips as he left the bed, and then waited for her as he held out his hand for her to follow.

Erik knelt on the hearth and stirred the fires while she slipped a toe into the water behind the makeshift curtain before allowing her body to be engulfed beneath the surface. While she bathed, Erik brewed tea, warmed fragrant baguettes whose smell permeated the room, and sliced juicy melon with drips that rolled down the sides profusely at the cut of the knife. Before long he said, "Breakfast awaits you, my love."

She replied "Oh, Erik, I love this, I want to stay in all day!"

He retorted "You're going to be a wrinkly prune if you stay in much longer."

She lifted her hands through the splashing of the water to scrutinize her fingers. "Erik, you are right. I am wrinkly! Will these things disappear?" Her voice was laced with concern.

A robust laugh escaped Erik's lips from behind the curtain. "Yes, my dearest one. That is unless women are different from men."

There was a pause before she said hopefully "Do you jest?"

She heard the smile in his voice as he said, "Yes, you needn't worry."

"Well, I think that's the signal for me to get out nonetheless."

There was another pause before she again said, "Erik?"

"Yes, my love."

"There are no towels back here."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"Yes there is nothing back here but a paper bag with a chunk of lemon soap in it. Could you please bring me something?" So much for the makeshift curtain.

He remembered using the last towel in the heap the day before. Anticipation gripped him. "Yes, I'll bring you something shortly.

The sound of his footsteps died away and then grew perceptible again before she heard his voice behind the curtain asking "Are you ready for me? I have the towels."

"Yes, I am ready."

Suddenly he appeared from behind the curtain, and walked toward her, a formidable figure towering high above as she sat below in the water. Several towels were slung over his shoulder.

The water lapped playfully against her body as she sat with knees pulled up against her chest and held within the protective clasp of her arms. The square of the pool with her in it made an arresting tapestry. She glanced up at him shyly, beneath lowered lashes. Her silken white skin gleamed, her hair floated in the water around her shoulders and her toes dangled off the edge of the seat precariously. Her sweet vulnerability tugged on his heartstrings.

He knelt beside her, his eyes locking hers, and began dropping towels on the bank next to the pool when the traitorous current of the water changed its direction and intensity unexpectedly, tilting her sideways and refusing support, which forced her to release her knees and unfold the full form of her body only inches beneath his startled eyes. The clear water sparkled with the fire from the candles in patches that danced and jumped but made a poor shroud, indeed, for covering nakedness.

Involuntarily his eyes fell to her unfolding body as it floated beneath the surface and then broke through momentarily before slipping back beneath, while she reached back and held the sides of the pool. He froze in position as he knelt beside her, like stone, staring, his lips parted in shock. One thought crowded out all others: She is beautiful! The skin flawless, her body shapely and slim, and every curve and swell, firm and perfectly placed. It was the body of a woman, though only a fledgling initiate, but a woman nevertheless.

He continued staring, transfixed; his astonished gaze refused to leave the water. She glanced at him shyly through dark lashes and lowered eyes, and then calmly pulled her knees back to her chest and wrapped them safely in her arms once again. Still he knelt in place, as immobile as a statue, staring, his already large chrysalis-colored eyes, even larger.

The musical sound of her voice pierced through the din of his thoughts. "Erik my love, what is wrong?" In halting tones he replied "You – are – beautiful." "Oh! I did not mean for that to happen," she said as her face flushed crimson. Her body now clasped safely within her arms finally offered him relief. Staring at the naked translucent skin mere inches from his eyes had wrested from him every last vestige of power within him to turn away of his own volition.

Finally when she had wrapped herself in her arms his body took mercy on his soul and allowed him to release the towels and straighten his legs to stand watching, high above. Then, wordless, he turned swiftly on his heel without glancing back, and left her to her bathing. He knew his limitations well.

Once she emerged from the water, she rubbed her body dry and wrapped her hair in one of the towels he had left for her at such great peril. Goosebumps jumped up where the moisture still collected on her skin. When she rounded the curtain she saw a soft robe hanging on a peg that was warming in front of the fire. He turned his admiring gaze to her and said affectionately "I have something for you."

He picked up the robe by the collar, walked behind her, and then held it over her shoulders while she let her towel drop to the floor. He waited while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. He bent, retrieved the towel, and threw it over his shoulder and then turned her around by the shoulders to face him so he could reach behind her and grab the sash to pull it forward. His brows rushed together in concentration as he tied the sash like that of a cravat, and then stood back to glance over her as he held her arms wide. "You are beautiful" he said once again echoing his sentiments of when he had witnessed her naked form floating in the water. He took a moment to savor the image that floated pleasantly into his memory.

He drew her against his chest and asked "Does it please you?"

She snuggled against his warmth and nodded, thinking again of the scene in the pool. It both titillated and unnerved. "So very much" she replied.

His palms rubbed up and down her back to chase the chill away. Her drew back to peer into her eyes as he unwound the towel on her hair and threw that one over his shoulder too. "Now, go warm yourself by the fire while you eat breakfast."

He turned toward the hearth for her to follow and but was thwarted from further movement when she threw her arms around him and held him hard from behind. "Thank you. You are good to me!" He clasped the arms that were wound tightly around his waist in front with his hand. His eyes sparkled as he turned to say "I'm going to bathe since I have seen how much it pleases you."

She looked askance at him and said as her cheeks sprouted spots of pink "Is it so obvious?"

"Yes, but I like that you like that." Without thinking she retorted, "It's far beyond like."

She glanced toward him and smiled coyly. Long, elegant fingers draped slim hips as he stood and stared at her a moment with eyes large and glittering like emeralds and a smile twitching the corner of his mouth, before turning toward the pool to bathe.

She basked in the soft luxury of her robe while sitting in front of the flames as she ate breakfast and mused at the wonder of her life with him in it. She imagined life without him in it cold and stark as if someone suddenly smothered the warm fire and stripped her of her robe. She shivered and sipped her tea and then held its warmth cupped in her hands to chase away newly raised goosebumps on her skin.

She bit into the melon and juice exploded over her hands as she ate. When she was done she set the rind aside and, unthinking, crossed the floor to rinse her hands in the pool. She stepped around the curtain. "Erik?" He was not wearing his mask; her face went white. His hand leapt to his face. This time it was her turn to stare like stone. "Christine! You must warn me." His eyes flashed fire.

"I – I – I'm sorry!"

"Please! Go."

She scurried away and tears welled in her eyes. He did startle her but she was mad at herself for showing it. Her heart went out to him for being caught off guard. She wiped her hands on one of the wet towels as the tears slid silently down her face.

After Erik finished his bath he sauntered languidly around the curtain rubbing a towel against his hair, and then firmly threw the towel on the hearth to dry. She glanced at him and saw that the fire in his eyes had disappeared, despite the hard toss of the towel. His lip curled in the barest smidgen of a grimace only she could decipher. He was dressed in black pants and a white ruffled shirt that hung open almost to his waist, and his hair hung down long from the weight of the water that still clung and wet tear-sized drops on his shirt. His mask was in place.

She ran to him and hooked her arms up his back and over his shoulders, imploring him, the earnestness in her eyes transparent, "Don't be angry, please, please, don't be angry with me, I beseech you," the words burst forth in rapid succession. She was walking backwards in perfect sync as he walked forward.

"I'm not with you, my love. But my heart fills with fright because I think your love for me will die at such horror. How can anyone love such a face?" He ground out the words of his last sentence.

"Does anger ride crests of fear?"

"Yes."

"But I love you so. You are handsome to me either way."

"That can't be!"

"But it is!"

He dropped down in front of the fire and slid long fingers through his hair to push it out of his face. "Christine, I wish that were so."

"It is so. You must believe me! Please!"

She slipped into his lap and looped her arms around his neck, while she searched his eyes. "Please, Erik, you are angry still. I can't stand your wrath! I love you so!"

His arms leapt around her and he buried his face into her freshly dried hair. "Say that again, for me."

"I love you so! I would say it a thousand times if you wished."

He retreated enough to gaze into her eyes, "And I you."

She plucked his lips with soft kisses like falling petals from a flower, and he responded in kind. Her robe fell forward revealing the sensual swell of her breast. His eyes fell to her breast and lingered and then lifted to her face. An urge to touch his lips to its pink softness surged through him but he forced it aside. She did nothing to remold the robe but held his face in both hands and showered him with kisses before he finally stopped her and declared, "The hour grows late and if I weaken any further you won't ever be returned. All of Paris will never again her the strains of your beautiful voice."

"Oh my sweetest love," she laughed and slid from his lap as he stood. They parted ways; she to her screen and he to tend to the final ministrations of his dress. When she turned away, his eyes followed after her until the screen swallowed her up.

Not even a hint of concern about what had happened earlier showed on his face. The memory of her shapely body unfolding beneath the sparkling water like a rose in springtime rushed into his head and haunted him with its beauty. He could not rub the specter of it from his mind. Nor did he try. The pleasure was worth the price of the pain.

Later that morning when he delivered her to her room he could scarcely summons the discipline to tear himself away. He analyzed the clutch she had upon his heart and the danger that loomed as a result of it. Perhaps he feared when left alone she would recover the memory of his face and it would conspire against him. He wanted to take her hand and run with her at his side into the corridors, but he dropped her hand instead and started to turn away.

She lunged against him and held him so tightly around the waist, her eyes squeezed shut, that he almost changed his mind and spirited her off, but good sense prevailed. With the performance nigh a day away there was work to be done. But her affectionate ways, and that she wanted him, even after she had seen, never ceased to amaze. He waited patiently for her to release him and then finally said "Tonight my love." She stood quietly and watched as the mirror closed behind him.

With single minded purpose, Erik rounded the doorway of Mme. Giry's office just as she was sitting down at her desk. His cloak whipped then slid down the doorframe to pester his ankles as he turned and dropped down in the chair next to her. His cloak stretched like a fan across the floor and draped one foot, quiescent. He stretched one leg long and planted the other beneath the chair as he said "You were right about Christine. I appreciate your observations. You're very perceptive. Though I still doubted, it somehow made it tolerable."

Mme. Giry looked satisfied as she said "That's what friends are for." Then her voice flattened as she said matter-of-factly, "Though it doesn't take a genius to see she is very much in love with you."

He smiled and replied earnestly "Well, I appreciate your help in the matter." She let her eyes meet his warmly one more time before turning to another topic.

"I've hired M. Gauthier and he is going to come in tomorrow to help get things ready for the next show, so we'll soon see what he can do."

"Yes, let's hope our suspicions are unfounded and his skill is as laudable as his credentials."

"Also," she interrupted, "I suggested to the managers that we decide the schedule after we see the Patron's response to tomorrow's performance. They were only too happy not to be bothered with details. What's your opinion?"

"You are a shrewd judge of the human element. I leave that to you, though we may be doing some fancy footwork to accommodate public sentiment. But I think we can manage it. Especially with the new hire."

Mme. Giry glanced at the time and said, "Oh, the hour grows late, I must go meet with my dancers. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

"No. I think we've covered it."

"Very well. We'll meet again tomorrow to work the smallest details since they will no doubt appear today as the hour grows late since that is often the case."

He nodded and his lip curled down slightly with the seriousness of addressing the last minute details. She gave his shoulder a gentle pat as she walked past him, and then disappeared through the doorway, and he wondered again why he had not drawn support from their friendship much sooner.

Christine arrived at rehearsal as Mme. Giry and the dancers were blocking a particularly taxing choreography and trying to decide the best way to mesh Christine's tight schedule of arias with the dances when they solved the problem. To avoid a change of costume, Christine was to dance with the group of dancers and then emerge as the crowning glory to sing the solo.

Christine missed dancing with the girls, who had been friends since she had come to the opera house, and so was elated with the idea. The choreography took most of the afternoon to perfect. Erik stepped from the shadows in time to watch Christine move as one with the group of dancers, and then to see several girls sink to the floor like rose buds in a circle with Christine positioned in the center to rise from them like a rose in bloom. The circle around her lifted their arms in a large "O" above their heads, as each crossed one lithe leg over the other, and whirled until they stood encircling Christine. Slowly they dropped their arms one by one, as they walked long, halting steps around her, then each spun in a pirouette and left, one at time, leaving her standing alone. She began to sing.

She wore a black sash over scalloped red silk pants that hugged her body and she reminded Erik strikingly of the roses he gave her before she performed. She was the rose amidst the thorns in his life. And just like he gave her the roses willingly as a gift, she gave her love to him, willingly. He had forgotten how much her dancing enchanted him, but this new rendition reminded him anew. And it brought the memory of her bathing this morning, floating into his thoughts again. He savored the memory. A sudden desire to be with her flooded his heart.

As weariness encroached and the hour grew late, Christine glanced above searching for him. He stepped briefly from the shadows and motioned his hand quickly for her to come to him above. Mme. Giry's voice dismissing the dancers cut into her thoughts. "You did very well my dear" she said to Christine. "There is no doubt you will captivate your audience." She turned to the others and said "You all worked very hard today, thank you. I will see you tomorrow morning for a full dress rehearsal." Christine flew from her rehearsal and into the back corridors to find Erik.

As she climbed to the next floor Erik striding toward her with his cloak tumbling behind him met her eyes. When he reached her he grabbed her hand and said "Follow me, I want to show you something astonishing." The traversed the back passages leading to the roof and reached the door in time to leap back into the shadows as Carlotta and Piangi were entering the building together, engaged in lively conversation. Carlotta's arm entwined in Piangi's and she hung on his every word with rapt attention. Neither saw Erik or Christine. As soon as they passed Christine ran out, laughing, onto the roof. Erik strode out after her. She spread her arms wide with her head dropped back and whirled around. "Erik! It's like daylight out here!"

"I don't think I've ever seen a brighter moon. Look! The whole city looks as if it were bathed in an ethereal bluish light."

"It makes the city look so beautiful," she said as she stood staring. The swells of music again came up from below.

"Erik, can you hear it? They're playing a waltz. Will you waltz with me in the moonlight? I loved it so much when you waltzed with me before." Her face shown with such happiness that he could not resist her plea. Regally, he strode to her and swept his arm toward his chest in a deep bow, "My beautiful mademoiselle, may I have this dance?"

They came together and danced as if they were of one soul and one rhythm repeating what they had done in a thousand different lifetimes already. Their fit was like a hand in a glove. They whirled together without flaw around the whole area of the roof. Slowly he whirled her to a stop. "Your waltzing is unsurpassed," she said breathlessly, which summoned another thought into her head.

She grasped both of his hands, and looked thoughtfully into his eyes with her eyes shining, and asked shyly, "Have you thought any more about going to the Masked Ball with me? You said you would think on it."

He looked as if he were about to speak and then hesitated. She asked fearlessly, "What is it that worries you so?" Then she remembered the morning. She was afraid to ask but forced herself on, "Is what happened this morning the thing that worries you?"

His emerald eyes studied her face solemnly as he decided how best to answer and said, "Only in part. It's not only that I am ugly – and I despise my ugliness" he spat the words, "it's that – there is something else…" He held back.

"What is it?" she pressed him on. "It's – recognition." He had reached his hand to her face and was softly stroking her cheek with his thumb. "It's a dark, terrible story, one I'm not yet ready to tell." He knew he must tell her eventually, but feared dreadfully she would think him depraved and hate him. "But, in time you must know."

His eyes burned into hers. Forgetting all about her original question, she dropped her eyes under the power of his gaze and said gently, "It can wait until you are ready."

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight, he took her in his arms and pressed her tightly against him, weaving his fingers through her hair and kissing soft butterfly kisses against her curls. She let herself float in the sound of his breath against her ear, the fragrance of him she loved so much, and the firmness of his body against hers. He was intoxicating! It shocked her that it was possible, but she was falling even more deeply in love.

Dreamily she let her body relax against his.

"Christine? Christine?" His insistent voice pierced her thoughts. It worried him when she did this. "You're not going to faint on me again are you? How can I take you to a ball if you faint each time we dance?" An exaggerated seriousness mingled with the sound of his voice. She woke from her reverie, looked up at him and saw that he was peering down at her with one eyebrow arched. Laughter burst from her lips as she said emphatically "It's not the dance that makes me faint."

Adoration mingling with pride danced in her eyes. Puzzlement, followed rapidly by understanding and then amazement, flickered through his. Moonlight bathed them in a blue glow as he pulled her against his chest again and wrapped her in his arms, whispering in her ear with his voice almost solemn, "My dear, sweet Christine." He paused a moment before he finally said "Shall we?"

The lateness of the hour compelled her to suggest as they wandered down the winding stairs, "Let's not go to my dressing room for a change since I have to put my costume right back on in the morning anyway."

He looked doubtful as he glanced at the silk pants, and then frowned as he said "You'll slip right off the horse in those." Though the thought of his hand encircling her bare midriff tantalized him and weakened his resolve, though he feared it would distract him from the work that still stretched ahead. She pleaded, and he gave in. While on the horse she enjoyed the feel of his warm hand against her skin, and he the feel of her silken skin against his hand. And they both enjoyed the intimacy of it. But, just as he feared, neither one was in a working mood when they alighted from the boat.

They sat on the hearth by the flames and he offered her crusted bread, melted brie fired at the hearth, and rich Bordeaux wine. She was so hungry she eagerly relished every sumptuous bite. But the dearth of food during the day dangerously exaggerated the effects of the wine, which dulled her inhibitions recklessly and made her giddy, so Erik wasn't prepared for what followed. "No more wine for you," he said and grabbed the bottle by the neck to move it to the other side of the hearth as he watched her warily.

"Don't worry, one glass is enough for me," she said and giggled. "That glass was more like two, my love. One mustn't fill it till it brims the top!" he said with conviction, his eyes slightly large. They were about to get larger.

Erik continued, "We've been so busy with your singing, I'd forgotten how much I loved watching you dance, but seeing you today brought back all the memories.

"Yes, I've missed it," she said. Then she turned eyes that sparkled mischievously on him and said, "When I dance I dance only for you."

His head turned quickly and his eyes caught hers to decipher their meaning. The fire flickered off both their faces and lit the room seductively. She rose, walked a sultry walk and stood in front of him to cup her palms atop his shoulders as he sat on the hearth. He gazed up into her face, wrapped his hands around her waist, and pressed his lips in a gentle kiss against her midriff. The firelight undulated off her creamy bare skin. Her hips began to sway slowly first from one side, then to the other. Her arms began to lift on each side in perfect rhythm with her hips. This was definitely not the dance she did earlier, he thought as his eyes swept the length of her in appreciation.

Her hips subtly changed from side to side as she walked back from him, and he let his hands slide from her waist reluctantly as she moved away, his eyes riveted. Then she changed to sensual circles as she turned around in front of him while her arms slowly lifted and each clasped the other as she held them over her head. The contours of his face relaxed and changed from rapt interest to enthralled. Nothing, not even threat of death, could have pried his eyes from the rose that twisted and swayed before his eyes. When she came full circle she dropped her hands to her hips that still swayed, and walked exaggerated, beguiling steps, one foot crossing subtly over the other and then halting in turn, as she danced her way toward him – chin dropped, eyes under lashes fixed on his.

When she reached him, she moved her leg in an arc across his lap, interlaced her fingers behind his neck, and then sank down to face him. His fiery gaze followed hers as she sank down upon his lap. She said "A dance for your eyes only" and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth with warm, tender lips. He sat motionless for a moment, surprised at her display, then, finally, his arms leaped around her and held her tightly.

He kissed her mouth passionately, his tongue parting her lips, and then kissed a heated path, whose sensation lingered, down her throat to the swells that rose enticingly above the low bodice of her costume. His breath was hot in his throat. Her head dropped back and her fingers slid into his hair to reveal her pleasure. While he crossed intermittently between the pleasure and pain of it all, he thought ruefully to himself, this is going to be a long, difficult night. That night, true to expectations, images of his Christine taunted him each time his eyes started to close in slumber while he held her lithe body against his as she slept. She was so beautiful! And he loved her so.

By the time morning came, Erik awoke heavy lidded and fatigued since he had barely slept. Christine on the other hand, had hardly even stirred after she tumbled into a deep, satisfying, slumber, so she awoke refreshed. But both slept beyond the required hour of rising so the morning was a frenzied preparation to leave since the performance was that night. When he took her to her room he lingered with her in his embrace, reluctant to release her. "Tonight I will come to you immediately after the performance," he reassured.

"Promise me?" she asked.

"Yes, my love."

But after the performance, Erik arrived as Raoul and his family were spiriting Christine from her dressing room to take her to a celebration dinner. Christine was employing every trick to stall, trying desperately to delay, but there was no way for her to get out of it since Raoul's father planned to bequeath the Opera Populaire a ridiculously magnanimous sum of money that night. When she was leaving with the family, she heard a subtle signal from Erik behind the mirror and turned toward it to mouth the words "Wait for me." Her eyes were full of longing.

It tortured Erik's heart, as he stood gazing from behind the mirror that protected him from the world that shunned him, but he knew there was nothing either of them could do to change things. He grit his teeth and decided he would come back later for her, since he couldn't stand to be without her the whole night through. As he stood watching, he saw Christine turn, rush back and bend to grasp the rose to take with her. The gesture warmed his heart and helped ameliorate some of the pain. He watched as she closed the door behind her and she formed her lips into a final parting kiss. He watched after her and then turned on his heel with his cloak tumbling steadfastly behind and strode away from the mirror, vanishing, like an apparition, into the dark corridors.


	11. Chapter 11

**OK, this chapter got a little long. Or a lot. I apologize. In the future I may divide it up into two chapters since I do plan to revise as your reviews have pointed out some egregious errors (thank you for being blunt without being mean, much appreciated). And sorry it took a while - I've been trying to finish up another project as well so thank you for being patient too!**

**Chapter 11**

Christine accepted Raoul's proffered arm and followed beside him as he led her through the burgeoning throng of admirers that swelled larger with each step they took toward the black lacquered carriage that waited with Raoul's parents inside. The gold accents gleamed in the swathes of light that fell from the gas lamps and made pools on the sidewalk. Jostling bodies and smiling faces crowded around Christine to offer her flowers and colorful packages or to pluck her cloak hoping just to touch. Steadfastly she pressed through the crowd of admirers and finally reached the bottom step of the carriage where she halted to peer inside at the countenances of Raoul's parents, who were seated together on the far side and leaned affectionately against one another while they waited.

The chill air blanketing the city began to fill with fat, lazy snowflakes that twirled from the clouds high above and shimmered when caught in the illumination of the gas lamps rising at intervals along the way. One at a time, the icy flakes clung to the outside carriage walls before melting into little streams that ran down the sides. Raoul stepped inside the carriage ahead of Christine and turned to offer her his hand to pull her lithe form easily up the steps. Once inside, Christine's eyes roved around the opulence of the carriage and then settled on the welcoming smiles of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Chagny.

Raoul's mother was an unpretentious woman with kindly eyes who appeared genuinely uncomfortable amidst the opulence that surrounded her, while Raoul's father wore a stern expression that hid what turned out to be a loving indulgence and overly generous permissiveness toward his only son.

Raoul turned to his parents with his eyes bright and said "Mother and Father may I present Mlle. Christine Daae! Christine, my parents, the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Chagny!"

Raoul's parents responded warmly toward Christine and lavished her with praise, "My dear, you performed beautifully tonight. You have the exquisite voice of an angel, straight from the choirs of heaven."

Behind her eyes Christine mused to herself, yes the voice of my "Angel of Music" and immediately felt a sharp pang of missing Erik.

Raoul's father nodded his assent and the sternness in his visage was chased away by a crisp smile as he commented "The compositions lifted the soul with their beauty. Truly inspiring. It seemed as if love itself were written within the notes. Who was the composer? You performed the pieces so beautifully it seemed as if they were composed especially for you."

The trenchant acuteness of his observations caught Christine by surprise. "Thank you. Erik is his name," Christine replied as she sank down on the soft cushions and drank in the intricate details of the artistry surrounding her.

The opulence of the carriage quickly dispelled any doubt upon which tier of wealth the de Chagny family perched. Four horses pranced, whinnied, and bobbed their heads as they impatiently anticipated the signal of the driver, since they had learned to expect slamming doors meant departure was imminent. Rich velvet covered the walls and seats inside the carriage, and then broke into an ornate pattern of tiny jewel encrusted crowns that was divided by a gleaming rope of braided gold. The rope ran along the cushions, dropped down long, and finished abruptly in a thick tassel while the pattern of jewel encrusted crowns stretched to top of the carriage where the wall met the ceiling.

Fat satin comforters were folded into the corners of the carriage and waited to hug the laps of humans seeking warmth. Raoul moved to sit shockingly close to Christine with his thigh touching hers and draped them both in the same satin cover. He smelled pleasantly clean, but the clinging fragrance of scented candles and the faint smell of leather she loved so much were conspicuously absent. The lack of it wound into her awareness and made her heart long for Erik.

Noise from hands patting the carriage came through the walls and plucked Christine's eardrums maddeningly. Consternation welled in her heart since she shared her talent with others for the love of her art, and Erik; but not to garner such heated adulation. Relief flooded over her when the click of the reins was quickly followed by a jerk that signaled the carriage wheels had begun to roll along the cobblestone away from the melee of worshippers.

The cluster of followers surrounding the carriage shrank steadily as one person and then another fell away and stood by the wayside gazing after it as it rolled off. Finally the carriage traveled on alone as Christine's admirers gave up their hope of catching another glimpse of her.

Heavy snowflakes twirling lazily as they fell impregnated the darkness with an opaque haze that hastily encroached within the territory behind the carriage and hid it from view like a heavy white curtain dropping to divide the stage from its audience. And just as hastily, Christine's devotees turned their attention to beckoning merriment and forgot all about the carriage that had stolen the object of their adoration. But there was one who did not forget, and who continued to watch the carriage until long after it shrank into a tiny pinprick and then vanished into the lonely black night flecked with twirling white.

OOO

Erik watched from the dim upper chambers through a small octagon window that normally beckoned silvery rays of the moon through its opening when it wasn't darkened by the figure of a man. The darkness of the room from his body blocking the already feeble silvery light from the cloud enshrouded moon paralleled the dark loneliness washing over him as he strained to peer into the distance while he stood with both arms wrapped around the circle of the window and his forehead resting against the cold glass.

His eyes followed the shrinking square of their carriage as it flew down the cobblestone, away from him and then vanished into sparse snowflakes and black nothingness. The masculine outline of him was exquisitely molded by his cloak that hugged him as if in consolation along the line of his broad shoulders and slim waist while he leaned forward. Christine left the opera house so seldom that he felt as if part of his heart had been torn from his chest. His chest ached from the wound it left.

New knowledge brimmed in his heart till it could burst: loving deeply brought great pain. Once he was certain the carriage had vanished into the black night for good, he turned away from the window; his cloak swung along but the dance was gone from it sway. He wished for something to numb the pain. Mme. Giry's face floated into his thoughts. She had the power to soothe. In the fray, he had almost forgotten he needed to discuss the events of the evening with her.

Erik straightened to his full stature and strode the back corridors that deposited him at the hall that led to the door of her room; tall and statuesque in black, he looked much more imposing than he felt. He rapped his fingers against the wooden door in the rhythm she would recognize, and the door flew open. She swept her hand in front of her in a gesture of invitation, and then shut the door behind him.

When she saw pain flicker in his eyes the smile faded from her lips and she stepped back, staring, to await his next move but he stood rooted to the floor, awkwardly unmoving. She stepped toward him, laid her hand on his shoulder and asked "What troubles you?" Her eyes registered genuine concern.

He sighed and dropped down into a chair whose back rested against the wall, crossed an ankle at his knee and pressed the fingertips of his hands together in front of his chest with his elbows on the armrests. He stared straight ahead while his mind floated deep in thought as he pondered the events of the evening before he replied, "Fate. Fate troubles me. At every turn, Christine is wrested from my grasp. And love. An emotion that one minute bathes the heart in pleasure and the next turns against it to rake it with talons of pain.

"Is it pain from love, or pain from fear of its loss?" she asked as she perched on the arm of her couch and clasped her hands in her lap.

His brow darkened as he thought again and then replied "Perhaps it is the fear of its loss." His gaze turned and locked hers as he said "Should I, and what I feel, whether pain, fear or joy, matter? Or is that presumptuous, since so few have thought so?"

"Erik, you and how you think or feel matters a great deal," she interjected quickly to assuage the stab of pain that gathered in her heart for him. He looked away but then glanced at her with his brows rushed together as if to assure the truthfulness of her words.

"Do I deserve the same freedom from pain and suffering as that of any other man? Or is there something about me that is undeserving of happiness?"

Her disbelieving eyes widened in shock that he would even question such a thing. "Not only do you have the right to be free of pain and suffering just as any other man, but you also deserve to be happy."

Her words smothered the fire that fueled his agony, but his believing them remained recalcitrant. The words of Mme. Giry, the voice of his mother dimmed by the passage of time, and the love Christine offered him now warred against the abuses of the world. Little sharp pins of doubt pricked his heart.

"Christine left with Raoul tonight," he continued.

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry."

"My fear is that if she's with him enough, it's inevitable that she'll fall in love with him. No, I've thought that all along, because I don't believe I can keep her here forever, but I'd hoped it would be later than sooner. Like after I'm dead. She's become such a part of my soul. It's selfish, I know, but I can't stop myself any more than the morning can forbid the collection of dew on the grasses and flowers at sunrise. But fate seems to be working against me in that regard. Can I fight fate?"

She replied "Looking at your situation from the outside, perhaps there should be more balance between your desire to take care of her, and your need to take care of yourself. No person can be selfless all the time. Let yourself desire her. As someone who loves you both, that is what presents itself to me." Surprise flickered in his eyes at her blunt admission. "As far as fighting fate," she continued, "Your perceptions of fate are based on assumptions from past experience. Your assumptions may be wrong. How do you know fate doesn't wish you two to be together? Together you create a beautiful coupling that complements in every way. Would fate fight beauty? It isn't reasonable."

"Did you say a coupling that includes me is beautiful?" his face was full of doubt, and perhaps dread, as cautiously he awaited the answer.

"Yes. Exquisitely so," she replied, and he couldn't be sure but it seemed that more than fondness alighted in her eyes, though he also sensed that whatever it was it would always be held tightly in check. The transparency in her eyes reflected the truth of her words and became the mirror of his worth; the words were a balm that soothed like a drug.

"Erik, you deserve happiness no less than any man," she continued. "Few deserve it more. With each passage of time you prove yourself to be more outstanding. It's a privilege to work with you and be your friend. If Christine chooses someone other than you, believe me, while it is her prerogative, it will also be her loss.

He took solace in her words as he contemplated their meaning, and he wanted to believe her, but his natural tendency was to believe otherwise. He said "Those words, dull the sharp edge of pain that gnaws at me. I have seen that you are a shrewd judge of character, which leads me to believe there may be truth in them. I want there to be – desperately. You are, and always have been" – his eyes met hers, – "a true friend."

Her eyes held his evenly as she said, "I don't think there is a person in the world from whom those words could mean more." A smile touched his lips and then he turned abruptly to another important subject and asked, "Now, what about the performance?"

Mme. Giry became animated as she stood up, and paced with arms gesticulating and exclaimed "Erik, they loved it. The response was overwhelming. I've had many requests, actually more like demands, for sheet music of your compositions. Do you think you could make some copies?"

She stopped and stared hopefully into his eyes a moment before resuming her pacing. "I have some patrons who are willing to pay, and pay handsomely for them. I don't think we should pass up this opportunity to let the coffers of the Opera Populaire swell while we have the chance, and to increase your income as well."

His eyes followed her as she paced, hands with fingers still pressed together crossed in front of his chest and he replied "I have ample for my needs, as long as my salary is paid, thanks to you," he winked but so rapidly that few would have caught it, "however, I would like to increase the allocation for each performance."

"So you'll make some copies then?"

"Absolutely. Yes, I'd be happy to."

"As soon as possible?"

"Yes." He stood to leave and his cloak fell heavily and swayed about his ankles. "Thank you for giving ear to my crisis of the heart." He crossed the space of the floor that separated them and pulled her against him in a quick hug. She was so shocked she didn't return the endearment. He left her standing there with astonishment gilding her features.

He disappeared through the door and she rushed to it, stuck her head out and said, "Thank you, Erik, for giving of your tremendous talent. Every word was spoken with the utmost of sincerity." What she said was true. He glanced back at her and nodded curtly while he strode steadfastly away with his robes billowing majestically in his wake.

Once back in the cellars, Erik began the arduous task of copying his music to several sheets as Mme. Giry had requested. The hours slid by and the night had darkened further when suddenly, eyes that scratched like sandpaper as he blinked and a mind that wandered alerted him to the lateness of the hour. Fatigue encroached and he worried the copies would take on a vexing imprecision if he didn't rest.

Christine should be returning anytime, he surmised, so he set the sheets still to be copied aside so he could return to them after going to the dressing room but when he got there and pushed the mirror aside, there was no sign of Christine, the room was empty. Weariness combined from the late hour and last night's lack of sleep cajoled him into leaning back against the sofa with his head resting on arms folded behind, while he waited for her, whereupon he plummeted immediately into a deep slumber.

OOO

Snowflakes had begun to collect in lopsided mounds in the crooks of the branches of trees that lined each side of the street. The carriage swayed on its springs as it rolled along the final stretch between the lines of overarching trees that canopied it on the way to the dining establishment _The Grand Cuisine_, which appeared to rise majestically out of the earth at the top of a long hill. When the carriage halted at the front, the footman threw open the door and Raoul disembarked from the steps of the carriage and turned to lift Christine by the waist to the ground as she glanced around at the surrounding scenery that captured her attention with its softly falling flakes that shown like glittering diamonds in the moonlight.

Suddenly she realized how seldom she left the opera house and how exciting it felt. The gas lamps in front elongated the shadows of the trees and cast the front door into an unearthly glow that made her wonder if she were about to enter paradise. The ornate base relief cast into blocks of granite buttressing the door left no mystery about which station of society the patronage who frequented the eating establishment resided.

Raoul's family, along with Christine, passed through the arched wooden doorway into the lavishly furnished sanctuary. The ceiling stretched three stories above and took on the nuances of a mock cathedral with the fresco on the walls and ceiling bright in myriad pinks, greens and blues splashed across it generously. Fires blazed in stone hearths near each table and each hearth was attended by a swarm of cooks and servants who dutifully ran multiple courses of trays heavily laden with rich delicacies to the guests at the tables, which included such wonders as hearty thick soups and crouton salads, followed by beef with seasoned cabbage, or sizzling veal on the spit, and a dazzling array of petite dishes, topped with sweets such as tarts and mounds of chocolate mousse.

Christine's mouth exploded with water. The fare at the opera house, while passable was not delectable like this, and delicious smells wafted all around. The last time she remembered having been offered so much food was the last time she had supped with Raoul and his family at a party at which her father's violin playing had been the accompaniment over a decade ago. A sadness over the loss of her father blossomed unexpectedly within her, but she quickly suppressed it to prevent the tears from rising up. That turned her mind suddenly to the other loved one she had been ruthlessly thwarted from visiting tonight, her dearest Erik. His handsome visage swam into her mind like a reflection undulating in water and she wondered what he was doing this very moment.

Then she remembered what had happened while she was bathing the morning before, and it made tingles explode into the pit of her stomach. Oh how she wished she were in his arms this very moment! Her appetite was for him, not all this food. Her mind floated out of its reverie as she noticed Raoul's eyes holding hers with his eyebrows lifted in question. He repeated the question, "May I take your cloak, Christine?"

"Yes, thank you she replied slightly embarrassed." Best to put Erik from her mind as soon as possible or she would appear to be a sleepwalking zombie to those around her, she thought. Nor would she want Raoul to suspect what was in her thoughts. That would be scandalous.

Once they were seated, the banter turned warm and light and continued throughout the evening to be interrupted only by servants popping through the din of their voices with some new round of delicacies. Christine discovered she was famished after all, and ate with relish since she tended to forget to eat midday meals, and far too often, supper as well. Mounds of food came in wave after wave and the wine flowed; before Christine knew it she was gorged beyond comprehension, and her corset only compounded the problem. She corrected herself; never before had she seen such fare.

Christine's thoughts stopped their wandering and connected again with the present milieu in time to hear Raoul's mother exclaim "Raoul my dearest son, you have reached the age at which you should begin to think about seeking a wife. Besides, I hope to know my grandchildren."

Raoul's mother glanced warmly at Christine whose kind heart and spirit and sweet humility had touched her as they had bantered during the evening. Christine fumbled for words and the excesses of the evening felt like they were climbing up her throat but Raoul jumped to her rescue.

"Don't be frightened Christine, mother reminds me of this at least once a week." He flashed a smile at his mother and reached for her hand. "Though that is also my hope, mother. I would like for you to know your grandchildren too."

Christine could see from the corner of her eyes that Raoul studied her, but she refused to look back. Straightaway Christine wished with all her heart that it was Erik who sat in Raoul's place with these two adoring parents, and that it was Erik's parents who were hinting of marriage in her presence. Oh the unfairness of life! Her polite demeanor belied the sixteen year old spirit petulantly kicking against the pricks in her thoughts.

As the fires in the hearths slowly died, Raoul, his family, and Christine gathered their coats and cloaks and stepped out into a world that had been transformed into a powdery white wonderland. In the far distance Christine could see several lanterns lighting a path across the road that led in the direction of the Opera Populaire. Raoul's father exclaimed, it's an accident, the road must be blocked.

Christine's heart sank. She felt as though an ocean separated her from Erik and she would never cross it. The valet appeared with the carriage and confirmed the Vicomte's speculation, but added that the accident arose as a result of marauders who had ransacked a carriage and pilfered whatever valuables they could find. The road wasn't safe. The Vicomte turned to Christine and offered his apologies, "I'm sorry Christine but it seems that the weather and the circumstances are against our returning you to the opera house tonight, but you are a welcome guest in our home and we will see that you are warm and comfortable."

Raoul's eyes twinkled at his father's invitation. Christine cast her eyes down to hide her disappointment and replied softly, "What must be, must be, thank you for your generous invitation."

Thoughts overflowing in worry about Erik reverberated in her head as she climbed into the carriage with the aid of Raoul's extended hand. What would Erik think? Would he be hurt? Angry? The carriage ride rocked and bounced on the bunching snow and Christine suddenly felt thankful she had only to travel to Raoul's house, since an uncomfortable queasiness had begun to be manifest with each bounce of the carriage. She was beginning to fear she was going to lose her dinner, which would be the height of embarrassment.

That night Christine slept soundly in Raoul's family's guest room, but by morning a faint, but steady queasiness still remained. Christine's first thoughts were about getting back to the opera house so she ran to the window and pulled the heavy curtains aside allowing her eyes to roam across the snow covered landscape. It was melting! She must have slept late, the sun looked high in the sky. A servant woman entered and greeted Christine with a cheery "Good day Mlle."

"What time is it?" Christine asked.

"High noon Mlle. The master has asked that you be given time to freshen up and then come down for brunch."

"Christine said, I couldn't, I have no appetite. I feel a little bit queasy."

The servant girl left and Raoul strolled through the door with concern in his eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I think I should probably get back home so I won't inconvenience your family, or in case this is contagious," she replied.

"My mother has an elixir from the apothecary for settling a queasy stomach; I will send her to you."

"Raoul – wait!"

"I'll be back in a moment!"

In the intervening time Christine freshened up and finished in tandem with a knock on her door. It was Raoul's mother bringing a streaming mug with her. She placed a gentle hand on Christine's forehead and stated, "No fever, that's good. This should help, dear, and it has a pleasant taste, but it takes about an hour to begin working."

"Thank you."

By this time Christine just wanted relief so she drank up the brew. It did taste pleasant.

Raoul said "I'll sit with you if you are agreeable to that."

"Yes, of course."

They exchanged pleasantries as they sat on the window seat in the warm sun that streamed through the windows creating a lattice of shadow on the floor, and then settled into some light bantering about various subjects that ranged from politics to love. Christine found that Raoul was well educated. And a fairly decent conversationalist, though not like Erik. Erik listened intently to everything she said, and then responded thoughtfully. She couldn't help but compare everything about Raoul to Erik and found that Raoul fell short. Not terribly so, but short just the same. He lacked Erik's penetrating mind and probing thoughts. And his depth of sensitivity, and breadth of warmth. Though, begrudgingly, she had to admit, Raoul was outstanding in his own right.

It wasn't that Raoul had so little, on the contrary he exuded much more charm and sensitivity than she had imagined; it was that Erik had so much. Erik had exploited his experiences to his advantage by refusing to let go of the memories of the mother who loved him and immersing himself in the philosophies of the enlightenment that had swept through France and much of Europe, while also understanding the darkest depths of human pain and suffering. Desire to see Erik overwhelmed her with desire and a pained expression crossed her face. Raoul stopped mid conversation and asked, "Are you all right, Christine?"

"Yes, actually, I am beginning to feel much better."

She couldn't deny that he was a genuinely kind person. "Do you think I could return home soon?"

Disappointment flashed across Raoul's face but he replied "Yes, I'll make the preparations now."

"Thank you Raoul, you are a good friend." He smiled as he turned to leave her room. She did think that, he was a good friend to her; their relationship lacked passion on her side, but it did not on his.

OOO

Erik awoke with a start. Light filtered into the room, and enlightenment into his mind that told him it was morning. Christine was nowhere to be seen. Panic gripped him. Where would she be? He rushed, cloak flying, through the back corridors to her sleeping quarters. Not there. He stood and collected his thoughts. There must be some explanation; she wouldn't stand him up. Or would she? Had Raoul captivated her heart? Irrational thoughts and tangled fears flew through his head.

He sailed through the back corridors and ascended to the window where he had watched Christine depart the night before and met with his answer: A snowy, white world. She must not have been able to make the trip back he assumed to himself. The next thought that rushed into his head was fear for her safety. He would not be able to rest easy until he saw her again in the flesh. He whipped on his heel and strode resolutely back toward the dark cellars of his home to take up where he had left off before with the task of copying his compositions.

After he finished he flexed his fingers several times before he walked to his bath, peeled off his clothes, and stepped into the warm waters and then emerged and quickly toweled off and dressed, all the while deep in thought with his countenance grim. He gathered the stack of papers dotted with black notes that made depressed pressure points on the backs of the pages and then took them with him to Mme. Giry's office.

When he entered she was sitting at her desk and said "I'm so glad you're here. Raoul's father gifted a ridiculously large sum of money to the Opera Populaire. I could have sworn he wanted to buy the place. The managers are beside themselves with glee. He also requested several copies of your compositions so I had no choice but to promise him the first installment. Do you mind copying more? I hate to drive you like a workhorse, but I fear I have no choice." She glanced at him, shrugged, and continued, "I guess that's the price of greatness. It was your compositions that elicited such generosity. He said they filled his spirit with a strange, but soothing sweetness. I have to agree with that, Erik."

He glanced back and a smile tugged as he replied, "Yes, I could manage that. I'll do it first thing."

OOO

When the carriage finally pulled up in front of the Opera Populaire, Christine sat on the edge of her seat in rapt interest and let her eyes roam up and down its façade in hopes of spying some small sign of Erik. For a moment she thought she saw one of the small windows high above darken. Her heart leapt, and then a strand of fear flashed through her heart. Raoul alighted ahead of her and turned to clasp her around the waist to lift her down, as was his custom. She was so distracted with searching for some sign of Erik that what followed took her wholly by surprise. Raoul encircled his arms about her and held her close. It was not the embrace of a friend; it was heated and it lingered.

She embraced him back since that was her natural tendency, and since she was so taken by surprise, but it gave the wrong impression. His face brightened as they said their final goodbye. She fretted about leading him on since she had not the heart to hurt anyone, especially not Raoul, but thoughts of Erik chased the thoughts of Raoul out of her head as soon as she walked through the familiar front doors of the opera house. This was home.

Longing for Erik crashed into her mind with a force that shocked even her, and then morphed into awareness that the queasiness permeating the pit of her stomach had returned with a vengeance, and an aching fatigue flooded her limbs with weakness. A heavy desire to sleep descended upon her, though she wanted terribly to see Erik. But she would just have to wait until he came to her.

OOO

Erik glanced out the same small window from which he had seen Christine depart the evening before the tenth time that day, but this time he was surprised to see that his efforts had paid off in the form of an elegant carriage that rolled along the cobblestone and rocked to a stop far below. It was Raoul's carriage; Erik stepped up to take a closer look. His heart beat faster. The coachman threw the door wide and Raoul sprinted down the steps and then turned to Christine with alacrity, to lift her out.

Elation coursed into Erik's heart as he saw Christine's slim form appear in the doorway and then lean toward Raoul's shoulders as she skimmed her surroundings. Then hurt was followed by anger as the scene beneath him unfolded right before his eyes in torturous slow motion. Raoul wrapped Christine in his arms and held her in a long embrace! But Erik's heart pushed against his ribcage, and his breath caught when she returned it. Was that the reason she glanced quickly around?

Painful loneliness encircled his heart like a band of steel. Anger flashed through him at Raoul and at Christine, and then at himself for entertaining so presumptuous a thought as that he deserved her love. Rational thoughts warred against irrational feelings of selfishness. He should be happy someone of Raoul's caliber wanted her, and could give her everything he could not, but he wasn't. It tortured his heart no less than the whippings he had sustained as a child. Angry tears filled his eyes as he wished he were the one standing in Raoul's stead.

He did not know why, whether fatigue or worry about Christine's whereabouts, or the chafing rash of unbridled love, but the years of suppressed emotion boiled to the surface and flooded over. He could not stop the tears that fell. They came in streams. He could not, absolutely could not, let Christine see him like this. Or anyone. He leaned against the wall in the dark shadows and waited for the water to stop its relentless flow from his eyes. How awful this felt, though the release allowed gossamer strands to make a web of relief over the pain in his heart.

Finally he turned toward home, but on his way back Mme. Giry stepped out her door abruptly and fell against him by accident.

"Erik! I'm so sorry, I was about to search for you."

Embarrassed, he hoped the evidence of tears had vanished but he nevertheless responded to her desire to see him and dutifully followed into her office as he strode resolutely behind her since he felt to ignore her would be the height of insolence. She abruptly stopped, startled by his appearance. She had never seen him cry.

"What's – wrong?" she asked tentatively as she imagined the very worst.

Tersely he told her what he had seen. She embraced him feeling genuine pain for him and a desire to comfort and said "I'm so sorry, Erik, let's hope it's not what you think. I have a hard time believing it is."

He returned the embrace and they lingered in each other's arms and then parted. The cooling laudanum of her reassurances temporarily anesthetized the heat of pain. He sat on the edge of her desk, crossed his legs at his ankles and his arms across his chest and said, "Oh God, I hope you are right; you've been right before. Now, that aside, what was it you wanted?"

"I hesitate to request this of you – "

"Please, allow me do something for you now."

"I just got word of several more orders of your music – for tomorrow. Any more and I think it's going to be too much for one person. We will have to solicit the help of others, but you will have to direct the initial efforts."

"It's not that difficult, the copies are immediately accessible in my head, but yes, much more and it could lead to that."

Briefly he wondered exactly what "direct the initial efforts" meant, and what it would entail. He straightened to his full height and said "I'll not take any more of your time, and I'll get those copies to you as soon as I am able."

He strode toward the door and suddenly turned, his cloak swirled around his ankles, and said "Thank you – again, for being there. You've always been there; I wish I had seen it sooner." And with that he was gone.

She stood staring after the path that once held him in its grasp, loving him, though wondering what kind of love this was since his relationship with, and his love for Christine, truly lifted her heart.

He turned toward the cellars of his home, but passed the mirror that led into Christine's room on the way; she wasn't there, so he continued on his way since he had no plans to see her with his eyes rimmed in red. Once home, with his heart still heavy, he picked up his sheet music and sat at the organ and rather than make more copies of his work, he began to pen the notes for a full-fledged opera. The notes flew into his head. The emotions of the human heart put sagely to paper in the form of music. Rapidly it flew together and he found emotional release as he composed. Once relief made the pain manageable, he turned his attention to drafting several more copies of sheet music to take to Mme. Giry. When finished, he gathered together the pile of sheet music together to take to Mme. Giry, but this time in her room.

OOO

The first thing Christine did when she entered the building was climb the stairs to alert Mme. Giry of her return, and let her know she was ill. It was dusk and colors bled from the corridor to leave it suspended in grey, but the rectangle that led into Mme. Giry's office cast off a warm yellow glow that lit up everything inside. Christine rounded the corner of the hall that led to it and stopped short, dumbfounded. Mme. Giry and Erik were clasped in a lingering embrace. Her stomach lurched and almost expelled its contents onto the floor right then and there; she backed up around the corner and stood against the wall to calm her stomach and then turned and ran noiselessly to her room. She didn't want to intrude, nor did she want Erik to see her when she felt so awful, and though she thought there must be some explanation, doubt chewed little holes into the foundation of trust.

She slipped through the door of her room, and could not resist the siren song of her bed. She collapsed upon it and sleep descended over her aching mind and body – a mind that ached for Erik and a body for relief. Several hours later her mind awoke and broke through the surface of a black haze. No! She couldn't have slept that long; she must go let Mme. Giry know she had returned. She sat up and her body felt like lead and her head spun. Her stomach wanted to expel its contents. How? She hadn't eaten all day. Then she thought of the unending food of the _Grand Cuisine_. Her stomach lurched and she ran to the basin, but nothing was forthcoming. She steadied herself and her stomach quieted. While her stomach was quiet she decided it best to sprint quietly in slippered feet to Mme. Giry's room, since she knew she would have retired, to speak to her. She vaguely wondered why Mme. Giry had not come looking for her.

She sped around the corner in time to see Erik quietly pull the door to Mme. Giry's room closed and, leave in the opposite direction down the hall, his broad back receding from her. What would Erik be doing in Mme. Giry's room at this late hour she wondered? The embrace she had witnessed before replayed in her head. That explained why Mme. Giry hadn't come to see her, and come to think of it, Erik either. How long had this been going on? Did this start while she was at Raoul's? Suddenly she hated Raoul with a vengeance. And Mme. Giry. But loved Erik much more. She slipped around the corner, slid her back down the wall, sat on the floor and wept. How could she ever live without his love?

OOO

Erik strode past Christine's room again and he was astonished to see she still wasn't there. Heartrending gloom descended upon him and he wondered if she was purposely avoiding him as he slowly turned away to go home. Once there, he again commenced composing his opera, and then, when he could hold his eyes open no longer, flopped on his bed still fully clothed and descended into a slumber that knew no dreaming. His eyes leapt open and he thought he had slept only a few minutes, but many hours had passed. The first rays of sunlight had blazoned their way into a night sky replete with rapidly fading stars that blinked out of existence as the light flew on wings of gold over the horizon. His heart was leaden, and a sick dread flowed through him when memories, and their attendant emotions from the day before, paraded through his head.

He peeled off his mask, which normally he didn't sleep in unless Christine was with him, and rubbed his face with his palms and then pushed his fingers through his hair to move it out of his face. He dragged his fingers over the uneven contours of his face, and the handsome face of Raoul floated into his thoughts. Of course she would choose Raoul over him he thought! But so soon? That is what he had hoped against. He forced himself to continue exploring the coarse and misshapen part of his skull stripped bare of hair that he kept hidden from the world. What had Christine seen? It had been so long since he had looked at himself without his mask he could no longer say.

He slipped off the bed and walked resolutely over to a mirror that was enshrouded in heavy drapes, hesitated, and then ripped the fabric aside with a swift jerk. He lifted his face and forced his eyes open to meet his reflection straight on in the mirror. He reeled from the shock of it. The deep red skin was scored, bumpy, and uneven, and the side of his nose where the skin became cartilage, flimsy and damaged. The mottled red skin cut deeply into his hairline and then a shock of rich dark hair grew from it. Strangely, only the skin that rimmed the eye was left undamaged. His eyebrow hair was sparse, only a few stray hairs jutted through. God he was ugly. Yet she had seen him, and claimed, at one time at least, to have loved him.

Was it all a lie? At once visions of her demonstrating her love for him leaped before his eyes as memory after memory of her kissing him, hugging him tightly, lying against him, laughing with him, speaking in earnest, sitting wrapped in is pool while she looked wide-eyed and trusting into his eyes, flew up before him. It couldn't be a lie! She appeared to love him for what he was, whether ugly or not. He had to see her! Until he knew without reservation that her embrace meant she now chose Raoul over him, he would continue to believe otherwise, he decided. But it didn't come easy.

OOO

Christine lost track of time before she finally leaned on her hand, pulled herself up from the floor, and then walked her leaden body slowly back to her room as she folded her arms around her stomach. When she entered the room her stomach lurched in agony and she ran to the basin in time to lose everything left in it. She was sick the whole night through and grateful that Erik had not seen her that way.

In the early hours of morning she shakily made her way to Mme. Giry's door and knocked softly on it to tell her of her illness. Love and hate for this surrogate mother wound together as she remembered her in Erik's arms the day before. Mme. Giry's eyes were large with alarm when she saw Christine and she helped her freshen up and returned with her to her room to have fresh linens brought in, and then left only after she lay down for sleep. Not once did her demeanor betray any indication of her treachery. Finally, Christine's mind quit its restless roaming, and her body, racked with the weariness of illness allowed her eyelids to drop shut as sleep overtook her.

OOO

Erik walked hesitantly toward Christine's mirror, afraid he would find her still conspicuously absent, but there she was, lying asleep on her bed! His aching heart filled with so much love it felt as if it would crack. He pushed the mirror aside quietly and slipped through as she slept and bent to draw trails across her forehead with his fingertips as he had always done, but when he touched her he flung his hand back in shock. She was burning hot! He tried gently to shake her awake, but could not. Fear blazoned like miniature bursts of lightning throughout his body, and tightened his muscles to full alert. Intense anger toward Raoul flashed through him. This would never have happened if Raoul hadn't spirited her away.

He dropped down in the chair next to her and waited and watched, scared to leave her alone. Twice her eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on him, but then dropped shut as she fell back into the clutches of sleep. He leapt out of the chair, stroked her face, and talked to her in a voice that was sweet and low.

"Christine? My sweet Christine? Do you hear me?" He hung over her and his cloak spilled off his shoulder and fell across her body.

Her mind tried to extricate itself from the deep well of tortured slumber but the moment it grazed the surface of consciousness it sank back, numb. The effort was too much and she gave up trying, but swaths of soothing comfort resonating from his presence rolled lazily over her. When her mind popped into each bubble of wakefulness that burst and sank back like lead, she tried feebly to reach her arms around his neck, as she imagined he was lying against her, and whisper I love you so in his ear, but her heavy body wouldn't move and her voice turned out words that garbled together.

Erik filled a basin with cool water and dipped rags into it to lay upon her forehead. The sun traveled higher in the sky and a knock sounded on the door. He opened the door to Mme. Giry, ushered her inside, and then closed the door.

"She is ill. Place you hand on her forehead."

"Yes, I saw her earlier." Mme. Giry leaned over and laid a palm on her forehead and then withdrew her hand in alarm.

"She won't be rehearsing, that is for sure. Keep the compresses on her head and let her sleep, when she awakens see that she has plenty to drink. I'll be back later to look after you both, and bring you something to eat." She glanced at the basin. "And keep you supplied with water."

"Thank you for your help. I'm going to stay by her side," he said. Mme. Giry read the fear in his eyes. She nodded and then left them as the door clicked shut behind her.

At nightfall Christine still hadn't awakened and Erik's fears loomed large in his mind. Nor had her fever abated. Mme. Giry kept him supplied with fresh water and he continued to lay cool compresses across her forehead. The fever climbed higher and Erik felt frantic but remained outwardly calm when finally it broke into violent shaking. The loud chattering of her teeth awakened her.

The first thing she saw was Erik's concerned face hovering over her as he bent with his hand on her shoulder. "My love?"

She called him her love, he thought. Elation spiked and then dipped at both her signs of wakefulness and her calling him "My love," but only cautiously did he allow it since he thought that maybe she had forgotten Raoul's embrace while caught in the grip of illness.

"Yes?" his voice was gentle as if he were talking to a child.

"Then you are here; I'm not dreaming?"

"No my love, I am here, you are not dreaming."

Her teeth kept up their violent chattering.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He felt extremely protective of her.

"I - can't - stop - shaking." He slid down next to her, curled around her body and slipped one hand under her head and across her chest and the other around her waist and held her close. Having her next to him spread warm relief and pleasure akin to a narcotic through his mind, body, and soul. He let himself drift in the dreamy pleasure of having her body pressed into his. He never wanted to be without her. Oh God, what would he do? He pushed the thought from his mind and returned again to savor the present. Her shaking slowly quieted and she snuggled in closer against him and then slipped back into slumber.

The next morning after Erik awoke, he gently pulled his arms out from beneath and around Christine as he tried not to disturb her. Briefly her fractured mind wondered who it was but when she turned sleepy eyes into the ones that sparkled like the dew studded green grasses of morning she remembered Erik had curled beside her the night before.

She then remembered what she had seen the day before, and fear crept in as she wondered if it was real or only a terrible dream. She sat up and reached to grab his hand as he stood, but her head spun and she fell back.

"Must you go? I don't want you to leave me."

He donned his cloak, bent to sit on the bed again, and lifted his hand to caress her face as he said "only for a short time to take care of some business." As it was, he didn't want to leave her side, and her pleading eyes only made it that much worse for him.

"Will you leave your cloak with me then?"

"My cloak?"

"Please?" He unfastened the clasps and it slipped off. He stood and draped it over her as his heart melted at the simple request. She hugged it against her and breathed in its fragrance. He drew his fingers across her forehead and left.

When he returned she was sound asleep, and slept again most of the day as her body alternated between hot fevers and violent chills. As one changed to the other, she awoke and he was able to convince her to sip hot broth, since that was all her stomach could handle.

Staying at Christine's side during the day forced him to meet with Mme. Giry late each night. After many nights of this same routine, Christine again began to fear the worst since she had awakened many nights at the same time and found that he was gone, but had been unable to stay awake and await his return. Her strength slowly returning, this night she lay there with her eyes wide open and was awake when he re-entered the room.

She sat up in the dim candle light, leaned against the wall, and clasped her knees to her chest. Whether illness compounded the effect, or the intense fear of losing his love to another she didn't know, but she couldn't help herself; her face crumpled and the tears flowed.

He walked toward her, his boots sounding like slow hollow clicks on the floor, and then stopped short. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in bafflement.

"Christine? Do you – weep?"

She didn't answer, but the sound of her breath was uneven and jagged. His eyes focused on her face, which left no doubt that the uneven breaths were those that came from weeping.

"Christine? What is it my love? Please tell me." His voice was tinged with apprehension.

"I thought you were sleeping."

So, he was sneaking out, she thought, but only stayed with her because she was sick. And she had believed he loved her! A wave of nausea washed over her with the thought.

"Have you been with Mme. Giry?"

"Yes." Confusion lit in his eyes.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Am I – Am I what?" He wondered if he had heard her right.

"Are you in love with her?" She searched his eyes, imploring, between breaths. "Please be honest with me, it's only fair that I know the truth."

"Of course I would be honest with you, Christine," he said gently, his voice earnest.

"Then what are your feelings?"

A far away look filled eyes that blinked with concentration as his mind floated deep in thought to assay exactly what it was he did feel so that he could give a truthful answer. She waited, fearing the response, but knowing it was information she must have.

Finally his eyes captured hers "I am fond of her; I owe her my life. But, you, Christine – you are my life. You are the air I breathe and the blood that rushes through my veins to my heart. Without you my life is empty like death. He walked over and sank down on the bed next to her, watching her intently the whole way. She started crying harder, her breath rising and falling in uncontrollable sobs, though her voice was silent. His words had brought such merciful relief.

Gently he wrapped her in his arms and held her body against his chest. She melted into his embrace. She felt so small and fragile it scared him. Her illness had robbed her of her full constitution. Her arms slid around his neck and she held him tightly as she continued with short sobbing breaths that racked her fragile form. He stroked her hair and whispered against her ear.

"Shhh, my love, you have no need to fear."

He wanted to cry himself and his eyes misted, but he held his tears in check for her sake, since she was in no condition to comfort him.

"Shhh, my dearest Christine, I love no one but you." He rocked her body against his while he held her tightly against his chest as his arms encircled her.

After a while she pulled back but kept her arms around his neck and searched his eyes as she said, "I saw you and her in each other's arms the day I returned – I wasn't prying, I just happened to walk into it – and I foolishly thought all the wrong things. I was so jealous, and terribly hurt."

"You, were jealous of me?" His face registered disbelief.

"Christine, you have my heart, and have for many, many, years, but if that ever changed," he was caressing her back and she bent her head against his neck, while her arms encircled it as he spoke, "I would not blindside you with such a thing. Though I can't imagine what you would have to do for that to happen, it's not in your sweet, gentle, nature. I would never lead you to believe one thing, while I acted on another. That would be unconscionable."

He let the words sink in a while before he said "Do you understand that my dear, sweet Christine? You have my word of honor."

He turned her face up to his with his finger beneath her chin and searched her eyes, waiting. She nodded and a fresh round of tears came. He gathered her against him and rocked her gently while stroking her hair until she finally quieted.

"And now I have something I must ask you."

"What?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"I saw Raoul embrace you when he delivered you here the day he brought you back and you returned the embrace, which seemed to linger. I had fears similar to yours. What are your feelings?" He drew back and lifted her chin again to stare into her eyes. His penetrating green eyes held hers steadily as he awaited her reply.

"Like you," she began, her voice betraying that she had been crying, "I am fond of him, but that is the beginning and end of it. He was very kind, but our exchange lacks the depth and passion that you and I have. Only your face and your voice filled my thoughts the whole time I was gone. You were all I could think about. Over and over again I compared Raoul to you, and he fell short."

Erik couldn't believe his ears, but decided to take Mme. Giry's advice and try to believe he was worthy of such love. She tightened her arms around his neck and hugged him close while she spoke against his ear, "The truth is, Erik, there will never be another you; I love you so very dearly."

"Oh, Christine," he replied and she felt his warm breath against her ear. Her words soothed his worried heart like a salve. He gathered her in his arms again and kissed her tenderly; she seemed so fragile. Erik could see that grey crescent moons were settling beneath Christine's eyes and he said "You look like you're about to tumble into the abyss of delirium; I'm afraid you need rest. I want you to recover your strength. You've been very sick and I have been so frightened for you."

She yawned and stretched, as numbing fatigue replaced the anxiety that had left her along with the worries about Erik, "Yes, I am exhausted. Please hold me in your arms tonight."

He unfastened his cloak and laid it over the back of the chair where he had kept vigil so many nights while she recovered. He slid down beside her and wrapped her in his arms while she slipped her legs into his and nestled against his chest as he faced her. He showered her face with gentle kisses and then stroked her hair until she fell asleep. Finally they both slept as each was clasped in the contented, and relieved, arms of the other.

OOO

Because Christine's convalescence had been slow, the next performance was delayed. She began rehearsing during the day in short spurts, but by nightfall was too exhausted and weak to go to Erik's so he, instead, came to her and stayed each night. Whenever he was with her she dropped easily into slumber and slept long hours, so he aided in her recovery. The days sped by and they followed this routine until her strength began to return fully, though she still looked vulnerable and fragile, which caught at his heart and filled him with worry. It also made him an easy mark for getting whatever she wanted. Fortunately for him, her wants were few, and most had his happiness in mind. Except this one.

A day was set for the next performance, which was highly desired because impatient patrons were becoming more disgruntled each day. One scene included an exchange between Christine and an unseen, otherworldly being. Christine begged Erik to sing the part himself since he would be concealed. At first he gave a flat out 'No.' And then he reluctantly considered it, and finally his 'no' became a 'Yes.' Mme. Giry was also elated as he sighed and said "It is impossible to fight you both."

The house was filled to overflowing and some of the patrons spilled into the aisles and some insisted on standing in the back. The rest of the names were placed on long lists as hopefuls wished someone would decline the performance. Few did, but it was known by the squeals of delight who succumbed.

Erik and Mme. Giry were surprised that M. Gauthier proved to be an able stage hand, despite his overly solicitous demeanor and their reservations. All the preparations fell into place and everyone had rehearsed their parts to perfection. Christine and Mme. Giry were both elated for Erik, and he was listed on the program as the "Mystery Guest."

He was shocked at the strength of his nervousness but there was no need since his voice was exquisite and an exaggerated hush fell over the audience as soon as he began to sing. The hush remained throughout the rest of the program as he and Christine captivated the audience with the beautifully matched timbre of their voices entwining together as if nature herself had meant it to be so.

After the performance, when all the clamoring and jostling outside Christine's dressing room finally died down and all was quiet she went to her armoire, thrust the doors aside, and cast her eyes over the choices of gowns. Pastels, deep reds and pinks jumped out at her. She pulled down several to try on; she wanted to capture Erik's attention, but she also wanted to be free of the chafing corset that dug into her tender flesh.

A faint rustle behind the mirror captured her attention as her ears had long since become acutely attuned to his approach down the final corridor. She unfastened her gown and let it fall to the floor where it gathered in layers at her feet. She did not bother to step behind the screen; fear of taking their relationship to a higher level had fallen away since after her illness she feared she might die before he made love to her. He did not know these thoughts danced in her head.

Behind the mirror Erik reached his hand toward the mirror and then stopped and stared with furrowed brow, to assay what it was she was doing. And to sweep his eyes over the beautiful, though fragile looking form openly shedding her garments before him as if it were as natural as breathing. She undid the stays of her corset and stepped out of it to reveal a gossamer, low-plunging chemise of the sheerest linen, which strained and pulled against the swells beneath it. Now he stood transfixed, the translucent skin and the youthful vigor of her body held his eyes, and the deprivation of the past few weeks had sharpened the intensity of his desire. She was indeed beautiful, and he had no intention whatsoever of looking away. He felt as though he were a voyeur, but what did one call someone for whom the show before him had clearly been purposely put on display?

He paused a few moments longer before he pushed the mirror aside and slipped through, never taking his eyes from her.

"My sweet, beautiful and beloved Christine."

She turned and rushed into his arms, and then slipped her arms inside his cloak and around his waist. Before returning her embrace while his arms were still free, he pulled off his gloves to feel the naked, silken skin of her back against the bare skin of his hands. He bent his head to hers and folded her in his embrace while his palms caressed the contours of her back.

He drew away from her and let his hands slide slowly down the outside of her arms while his eyes slid over the swells and contours of her body beneath the sheer linen. "You, my love, are beautiful. I could gaze at you all night."

He wanted to caress but dared not, for he knew not where she stood on the issue, and of that he wanted to be absolutely certain. He slipped his fingers into her hair at her temples and his thumbs caressed her lower lip before he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss. Her lips were full and their response eager. White-hot desire seized him and he drew away as he let his hands slide lightly over the soft swells beneath the silken fabric. She did not stop him. He stepped back and sank down upon the sofa as he continued to stare.

"Finish dressing and come home with me. It's been far too long," he said as he leaned back while his eyes moved with each fluid movement she made while donning a gown.

"I would love to; I was going to lead you by the hand if you didn't ask."

He smiled his acquiescence and she whirled and sat, head bent, in front of him, waiting and then pleasure engulfed her when long fingers caressed the nape of her neck and then the gentle pressure of soft lips pressed upon it too before he helped with the intricate hooks that closed the back of the gown. He sighed and wished the display would never end, but when it did, together they left through the mirror toward the cellars of his home to once again enjoy each other's company in the secrecy of their enchanted world.


	12. Chapter 12

**It's long again, but you said it's OK, so I took you at your word. :) Thank you for your reviews (I LOVE them!) and your patience. One caveat: This chapter is very M.**

**Chapter 12**

Erik relished every moment of the journey back to his cellars with Christine as he led her along with him in the labyrinth, and then held her close in his arms while they rode the horse together. Having her warm body pressed against his once again conjured up all the wonderful feelings that had lain dormant while she convalesced.

He had missed this journey since it held special significance for him, for this was where her feelings for him had first blossomed. She held her arm over his as it wrapped her, and sighed in contentment. How wonderfully satisfying it felt to be held once again tightly against his chest with his arm encircling her firmly.

He savored his good fortune that she wanted to be back with him again in his cellars since he had begun to fear it would never happen. When they reached the final passage and the boat swayed against the embankment Erik held out his gloved hand to Christine and waited until she clasped it before easily lifting her lithe form toward him. The lightness of her took him by surprise and she sprang forward and collided brusquely against his body.

His eyes widened and his arms leapt around her as he stepped back to regain his balance and stop her from falling. He let her slip down against his body until her feet touched the ground soundlessly, all the while holding her against him with one arm wrapping her tightly. It was then that the full impact of her brush with death struck his awareness completely. He could scarcely force himself to let her go.

She let her hands slide down from his shoulders and turned eagerly toward his world of wonder, casting her eyes about the familiar realm of his domain, thrilled once again to be part of it. She moved to step out of his grasp but when she realized he still held her tightly in one arm, she turned questioning eyes up to his.

The green eyes sparkling like gems and staring back intently startled her for in their depths rested the strength of his love and a glimpse into the barest spark of something that lay beyond this earthly realm. It unnerved her and she lost it as quickly as it had come. But one thing did stay with her; the sudden fear of ever losing him. She twisted quickly back into his arm and held him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

His firm body against hers and her soft form against his conjured up fears of each losing the other, though Erik wondered again about the rightness of it since he never really believed she was meant to be his. It was only sheer luck and a selfishness he could not relinquish that had made it so.

He drew away and his eyes probed the limpid pools that opened a conduit into the essence of her soul, which revealed an honesty that was pure. Now it was his turn to glimpse infinity. The intensity of his gaze strengthened and he stepped closer, but further knowledge was denied. What was he not seeing? The adoring face whose soft, dark eyes gazed into his somehow held the key. Anger flashed through him since he feared his ability to decipher the best for her was made brackish by his own desires.

She read the battle raging within his soul and asked "My love," her voice faintly tremulous and lifting in question. His demeanor unruffled, but his eyes at war he turned his countenance away and replied as nonchalantly as possible, "It's – the wonder of having you here again." She placed her palms one upon his mask, and one his cheek, and then gently brought his face again in line with hers. She studied him and then rose on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth that twisted downward, all the while holding his gaze, "The wonder of being here again with you. I loved it before; I love it even more now."

She did not believe he was forthcoming of all that was on his mind; nor did she believe he would keep it hidden from her forever. Suddenly he drew her into his arms and softly pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes and then her lips that were soft and yielding. His lips parted hers and she let herself spiral into the oblivion of the warmth of his probing mouth and trembling arms.

Tingles burst like a flower from her heart and darted their ephemeral paths into her limbs. She hung suspended in his arms against lips that burned and breath that was hot like desert winds and made her thirst for the relief only his mouth could give her. She drank from him his kiss and the fiery desert winds cooled as if by the light of the moon. He straightened and her body followed against his.

The roof high above whirled around her and she clutched his clothing for support. Automatically he clasped her shoulders to steady her and waited patiently, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on her. The simple gesture of his hands holding her shoulders welded together the yearnings of the heart with the desires of the flesh. She hungered to know more of him. Her cheeks flushed pink like the desert sand.

She refused to look into his countenance and hung her head with long curling locks shielding the secret that burned in her eyes fearing he would discern the boldness in her thoughts, something for which he had already demonstrated an uncanny ability. He pushed back her tresses and lifted her chin, dragging his thumb gently across her cheek, while his eyes searched hers, his brow creased, and then took her hand in his and led her to the hearth of stone.

While she settled herself against the bricks he left to the coolness of his wine cellar only to return shortly thereafter with a bottle brimming in a rich dark burgundy. He poured her a short glass and announced, "There will be no dancing tonight or I may be rendered helpless before you."

She laughed merrily as she accepted the wine from him. It warmed when it slid a path down her throat; she watched him from behind the rim of her glass while he hefted logs to the fireplace and then knelt toward them on one knee to light the tinder. Huge shadows danced across the walls, waxing and waning in unison, when the tinder burst into crackling balls of fire and then hissed into snakes of weaving flame engulfing the huge logs.

The air was redolent with warm bread and bubbling brie toasting in front of the fire. The burning flames bathed Erik and Christine in a subtle orange glow as they dined with the flickering undulations reflected in their countenances.

"I loved it when you sang tonight. It was emotionally moving, and also – I think the word is erotic," she said.

He drank his wine and set the glass down, watching her intently. "Erotic? What does erotic mean to you?"

"There was something about your voice that was spine-tingling and stimulating. It heightened my emotions and made my body feel like it was on fire. That – that it was hot.

"Hot? I daresay it didn't do that to the rest of the audience."

"I daresay it did."

"What? Mme. Giry will dismiss me."

"Or I will because I want it for my ears only."

"It is for your ears only."

She giggled. The wine had hit its mark. He had forgotten how her bodyweight had plummeted. He was happy to see her giddy again but also wary. Briefly he wondered what was in store as he remembered the last time she was like this; his penetrating green eyes snapped with interest as they watched her. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile of amusement. The smile increased her daring.

She stood and walked toward him. He moved the wine bottle.

"No."

"It's not wine I'm after, my love. It is something much better."

She slipped into his lap and her arms went around his neck. He set his last crust of bread aside having lost all interest in food.

Her shining eyes held his as she asked "What does erotic mean to you?" Somehow he expected that would be her question. His hands rested around her waist; the thumbs almost touched.

"It means when you desire someone, not just their mind and soul, but their body also."

"What does it mean when you want to completely surrender your body to someone then?

"Is that what you want to do?" He was frowning.

Suddenly she felt shy and dropped her countenance. Then she blurted out "I'm afraid I shall die before I do!"

"You seem to be of sound constitution now." He would not tell her what was in his thoughts earlier. Nor would he exploit her fear, though he trembled with desire. He let the thought of her clad against him in just such an embrace flood his mind and then trounced on it before it could distort his judgment.

"Fear is hardly reason enough to surrender yourself to another." He wished that weren't true.

"It's not just fear it's –" She shook her head.

He waited, listening for her to continue; his face rapt and etched with emotion. Gently he pressed her. "It's – "

"It's anytime I am near you but I felt it most profoundly when you sang.

"Felt what?"

"That I wanted to lay bare my soul before you, but also my body. I wanted to completely surrender my body to you.

"My voice as I sang brought out such a response?"

"Yes. But only because I trust you and know you won't take what isn't yours. You have shown me that this is true. Would you call that trust?"

"Trust in the most profound sense of the word. I would rather die than violate such trust." But what he thought was sometimes I feel like I will die.

"And that is why I love you so!" She wrapped his neck again and pressed a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He began to rest easy but he shouldn't have. His words, along with the fire and wine, warmed her and stoked the fire that glowed in her heart.

She was kissing the corner of his mouth between words as she asked "Will – you sing – for me – again? Tonight? Please?"

"For you I will do it. Come, my love." She slipped off his lap and he stood abruptly, took a step and then glanced back toward her, the line of his mouth firm, and his hand trailed behind as he reached out to her. She clasped it and he led her toward his huge pipe organ that was bathed in the dusky glow of flickering candles. When they drew closer she realized papers were strewn in piles all over the top.

She scooped them up. Her eyes were large and revealed excitement. "Erik! Is this what I think it is?"

"What do you think it is?"

"An opera?"

"Yes, you are right. It is an opera."

"Oh how wonderful! I'm so happy! I've hoped that you would. What are you going to call it?"

"_Don Juan's Triumph,_ or _The Triumph of Don Juan,_ something of that sort."

"Do I get a preview?"

"Of course. You are my most important critic."

"Oh, Erik, you know I love everything you write."

"That's why you are my most important critic; if you find it distasteful the world will despise it," he said, his voice partly serious and partly amused. "Now, come, sit," he patted his palm on the seat next to him.

She obliged and slipped down next to him draping her arm over his back. He sang the words from the evening's performance and the sound of his voice wound its way seductively into her soul, mind, and body. When he finished they sat in silence a few moments before she said, "Please – just once more."

He turned his face toward her and said, "Are you certain? I fear you will grow weary of my voice and all that you claim it bestows."

"Never my love," she said as her fingers played into the hair at the nape of his neck.

After he finished she slipped her leg in one liquid motion around his lap so that she faced him. She placed her hands on each shoulder close to his neck, and bent to touch her forehead to his.

"That was so beautiful, thank you," she whispered. Her skirts were high on her thighs.

Before he could respond she straightened her back and plucked at the corner of his cravat, slowly tugging on it until the bow disappeared and then it unwound and slipped from around his neck. She released it and they both watched as it fluttered to the floor. His eyes slid back to hers with a radiant intensity that revealed a spark of wariness, but he did not stop her. Instead he rested his hands upon her hips and waited in silence, watching her.

She plucked at the top button of his waistcoat until it slid through, and the next, and then the next. She slid down onto her knees between his thighs and continued to unfasten each button. Once at the bottom she pushed each lapel aside and slipped her hands across his chest and then slid his waistcoat off his shoulders and let it fall behind him. His breath quickened imperceptibly and his eyes followed her hands intently. She pressed her lips into the hollow at the bottom of his neck and then tasted it with her tongue. She breathed in deeply his scent. It was more intoxicating than the wine.

Gently she pulled the white ruffled shirt from inside his pants and then pushed the center apart until it began its slide off his shoulders. She ran her hands over the contours of his chest and firm stomach and then kissed a trail along the downy matting that ran down the center as she pushed the shirt to its final destination on the floor. Then she pressed her lips in kisses across his chest and stopped to touch her tongue against the crest softly and then more firmly. A sharp intake of breath and she felt gentle hands clasp her head to his chest and caress her hair. "Oh – Christine," a hoarse whisper escaped his utterance. She turned her gaze up to his to search his countenance.

He rose quickly and took her with him, her body moving with his in one motion as if she weighed nothing, and then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her once again to his bed, but this time to give to her what she had given to him.

When they came to his bed he laid her down as gently as if she were a china doll and then pulled her toward him as he lay down beside her. Softly he showered her lips with kisses while he deftly undid the hooks he had fastened earlier at her back, sliding fingers that tickled along the silken skin. The gown fell easily away from her shoulders.

His face rose above hers after he allowed her head to fall back against the pillow. He kissed a trail that left skin that burned for more as he moved his lips down toward the soft swells. A thought broke into his head and his mind bolted into stark reality as he wondered momentarily whether his ardor had corrupted his ability to read her desires. A slight hesitation as he glanced toward her face.

"Please – don't stop!" she pleaded and her fingers wove in and out of his hair softly. His lips found what they sought and she exclaimed Oh! As she clutched his head against her skin. Oh! Shards of pure pleasure exploded throughout her body and caused her to writhe against him in ecstasy.

It took every ounce of will he had to stop himself but he brought his mouth back to hers while he strove to cool the ardor that threatened to overtake them. He held her while he tickled her back and their breathing slowed, her tresses blanketed his arm. Her arms encircled his neck and her nostrils breathed in the scent that enchanted, comforted, enticed, and soothed, all at once until her arms finally loosened signaling she slept.

He let the events of the evening play through his mind over and over as he wondered about her obvious pleasure during the intimacy of their union: it shocked, amazed and then delighted. And it heightened his own pleasure much more than he ever could have imagined. He wished to know more about it, and surmised that perhaps a book perusal, or some such thing, on the subject would be in order.

Slowly he untangled her arms and slipped quietly away so that he could cool his ardor to a more comfortable level. He changed out of what was left of his evening attire and rinsed and dried his face and hesitated to replace his mask but decided he dared not risk it. He wandered over to his organ to gather the piles of sheet music and lose himself in the composition of his opera.

Hours later, having been soothed through the power of his other love, that of music, he walked back to the bed and into the rustle of slippery fabric on the floor. She had pushed her gown to the floor and slept only in her chemise, which was restored to its proper place. It delighted him and it tormented him, but tonight fatigue was an ally that sent him headlong into the relief of sleep as soon as he lay beside her and wrapped her in his arms.

The next morning, still held tightly within his arms, Christine awoke and her cheeks flushed crimson as the memories of the evening before coursed bewitching pathways into her thoughts. The intensity of the sensations and their associated pleasure had shocked her, and the recollection of it stirred up tingles anew.

She listened to his breath against her ear as he slept soundly and then turned in his arms to gaze upon his countenance. He awoke and his eyes fell upon her as she gazed at him. For a moment he was self-conscious, since he wondered why anyone would want to gaze at him for any length of time, and then he relaxed when he recalled how often she had shown this curious behavior.

"Good morning my love," he said and his voice was still drenched in the effects of sleep.

He caressed her cheek, which was burning a perplexing pink. Ah, so it was she who was self-conscious. She smiled and looked up at him from beneath long lashes, which filled his heart with an array of protective feelings.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my love?" His hand now fell to her shoulder and slid slowly down her arm.

"What was that I felt last night?" Her cheeks burned even pinker.

His voice became very alert and perhaps even wary as he answered, "During which part?" The large green eyes snapped with interest since she had been full of surprises lately, but still he wanted to give a thoughtful answer.

"The part where you carried me to your bed and filled me with an explosion of wonderful and amazing sensations. I felt intense love, and then a delicious desire to surrender myself to you and pure pleasure." He continued studying her, his eyes glowing and intense.

"You felt all that?"

She nodded and dropped her countenance. "Is that wrong?"

He lifted her chin. "You did the same for me. It flows naturally from love freely given. How could something so wonderful be wrong?"

That seemed to satisfy her as she looked thoughtful for a few moments before she turned sparkling eyes to his and asked, "When can we love freely again?"

Her request caught him unguarded. He smiled and said, "This bed is going to make me its slave. I fear I will never want to leave it. I am a greedy man, Christine. Greedy for the love you offer. What you offer I take, and will keep on taking. I cannot stop myself."

Suddenly he turned serious and his voice became more intense. "Christine, you must look after yourself. I cannot. I am attached to your love like the drunken man to his drink. I am bound to its pleasure. It clutches my heart and distorts my judgment. I cannot be trusted.

She placed a finger over his mouth, "Shhh, my love, say no more," and then she pushed him back against the bed and held his hands down above his head while her hair fell over him and her lips, full and soft pressed kisses against his mouth, throat and over his chest and then a scene much like the one of the night before once again unfolded. Finally he brought his lips to hers again and moaned softly to himself both in pleasure and in pain and then parted from her to lie on his back. He wore only his breeches and she gazed upon the muscles playing subtly beneath his skin with his movement and the taut flatness of his belly.

She caught a look of pain that crept across his face. "My love, why does pain make its residence within your countenance?" Her eyes were wide and full of disquiet. "Have I hurt you?"

He lifted his head to look at her and their eyes met. There was no escaping her scrutiny or misleading her with a false reply. He sighed and dropped his head back down to the pillow as he said, "Yes, you do torment me."

"I torment you?"

"With a pleasure so sharp it scores my heart. When you are near I wish time would stop its incessant unraveling for I am fearful of the turns it may take. I want life to be held in abeyance that you may be with me always."

She snuggled into the crook of his arm and the fear drained out of her voice. "That is my wish also."

"Then you, my love are an accomplice. What am I to do with you?" By now he had rolled toward her and both arms wrapped her close, his lips touched her forehead. Her hair smelled faintly of roses.

"Love me, that's all I ask of you," she replied.

OOO

But time did resume its forward march and he marveled at his resolve when a short time later he deposited Christine in her room and after one last lingering glance ducked through the mirror toward the office of Mme. Giry while Christine stared, motionless, after him.

Animated male voices floating on air met his ears as he closed the space to her office and he stepped into the shadows to listen. Immediately he recognized the familiar voices of M. Firmin and M. Andre.

"Mme. Giry, where are you finding such wonderful music?"

"Why, the Opera Ghost, of course!"

"Well, he must be a very powerful ghost because he is making us rich! Whether he is man or beast matters not to me," M. Firmin exclaimed.

"Nor me," M. Andre confirmed as he did a double take and a nod toward M. Firmin. "How, may I ask, is it that he speaks to you?" he continued.

"He comes to me in the form of a man."

"Well are you certain he isn't?"

"No, M. Andre, I am not, but, as long as he continues to work in our behalf, why ply him with questions that may only invoke wrath?"

They looked at each other, eyes large and then laughed nervously, "Why indeed? No, we don't want to stir the ire of the genius." And then very solemnly. "We remember Buquet."

"He's not that kind of sprite," she quipped. "His concerns appear to be, shall we say, pecuniary."

"Well then, just keep the coffers alive with the clink of coins and we'll ask questions later. Or never," M. Firmin said jocularly.

"Yes, you'll hear no complaints from us!"

"Give him the authority he needs and I'm sure you won't be sorry," Mme. Giry said matter-of-factly.

"We'll happily give him the authority he needs, er, um, through you. I don't believe _we _want to deal directly with a ghost! We'll leave that matter to you." They both nodded and winked, and then winked again, at her.

"All right, very well, agreed."

"Oh, and, one more thing," M. Firmin interjected, "the Vicomte de Chagny has asked for an audience today, would you mind?"

"With whom?"

"With you, Madam."

"Very well. Yes." And with that they were gone.

She was writing on ledgers as she glanced up to see Erik stride inside with heavy robes trailing behind. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

"Can you believe they fell for that in an age that so glorifies method and reason?"

"Yes, gold has the power to bend even the minds of the most brilliant around it, let alone the ordinary. However, their avarice and lack of reason seem to be working to our benefit, so why not take advantage since it will harm no one?"

Without knowing why, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She pushed aside the unexpected disquiet, glanced up at him and smiled. "Well said." And then, "Last night was another sensation, as expected. You were incredible, absolutely amazing!"

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest as he dipped his head slightly and said, "Thank you. As it turns out, it was my pleasure."

"But," she continued, "It has its down side."

"Which is?" "People are asking after 'the voice.' They want to know who you are."

"I was afraid of that."

"Yes, I understand your fears." In her thoughts she wondered whether she should be fearful as well since she had sequestered him here all these years and knew of his past, though she would protect him till her dying day if need be.

"So let's be circumspect and figure out how we want to handle this whole affair since I am sure you will be singing again – the demand is too high to do otherwise, and to suppress what has been started would only grab their attention further. But, oh, I hope we haven't opened Pandora's Box," she said partially to him and partially to herself.

"Believe me, I do as well, though I knew from the outset there were risks attached."

She stopped writing and held his gaze, her brow creased in worry from the sudden stab of fear pricking her heart, "I want to hear your ideas about how we should approach this as soon as possible. I think we need a plan. I am worried about your safety," she said bluntly. "It's been so long since it happened – though it would seem there are those who have not forgotten" – her voice trailed off.

"Yes, I know, of course." He was not comfortable speaking of the past.

Voices, one familiar, began to infiltrate her office from outside and alerted them that someone approached from below. Her office was situated in such a way as to easily capture the sounds of people approaching and amplify it. A feat of engineering attributable to Erik. Erik glanced at her and quickly jerked his head toward the door as he held her gaze to signal the commencement of their long since honed routine which was executed when interlopers approached, and then he stepped out into the shadows in time to witness Raoul entering her office escorted by two apprentice stage hands, who then left. Raoul looked wan and tired as he stood respectfully waiting at her desk; she stood to offer her hand and then sat back down.

Raoul began, "I'm sorry I haven't been in to see you sooner, I've been ill. How is Christine, I understand she has been also."

"Oh, I'm sorry you have been ill. Yes she has been also, but she is doing much better now."

"I've come to ask something of you regarding her."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a personal question and favor."

"Yes, go on." She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

"You see, I've become very enamored of her and since you are her surrogate mother, I feel it only appropriate to ask you this question: Is she seeing someone?"

She was so unguarded that she barely stammered out an acceptable answer. "I'm not sure, um, I think possibly, ahhh, yes."

"Who?"

She knew that was coming. "Ahh, I so seldom see them together that I – "

"Oh it's just as well, you see I'm beginning to suspect she isn't seeing anyone at all, or that he's a ghost!" Raoul smiled and then turned serious as he said, "Or she is just very shy. But I also think it may be related to something else entirely, and that is why I want to talk to her personally."

Thinking fast she said "Would your parents support such a union?"

"My parents have only my happiness in mind. And Christine would make me very happy. In my family we marry for love. My mother is from the merchant's class and my father has never had a day's regret," he replied earnestly.

Again, she was unguarded. "Ah – Oh." She fell silent. How, she wondered to herself, to balance the needs of a true friend against good manners and the wants of a patron who gave lavishly to the Opera Populaire?

"I would like to take her with me to lunch today." She heard Erik sigh in annoyance, since the office amplified his sounds too.

"Did you say something?"

"Oh, ahhh no, I'm sorry." She waved her hands. "A lot of moving air up here in the rafters."

"Shouldn't you have an office situated in a place that represents more adequately your stature and rank within the opera house? I could see that that is arranged."

She replied quickly, "Ah, no! Then more calmly, no, this suits me very well actually. It allows for much needed privacy. I'd never get anything done otherwise, but, thank you. Now where were we? Oh, yes, Christine. You wanted to take her to lunch."

"Yes, to speak with her about an important matter."

"I can't answer for her, you would need to ask her yourself, though I am sure she would oblige."

Mme. Giry hid her suspicious thoughts as she inquired further, more for Erik's sake, "May I ask the nature of your request?"

"Yes, of course. I would like to speak to her about courtship, which would eventually lead to marriage."

Mme. Giry's face blanched and her jaw dropped; she heard the air expel from Erik's lungs as if he had been struck a glancing blow at his back.

For all his talk of "Christine, look after yourself," Erik felt as if a dagger had just been plunged into his heart. He could bear no more. He ducked into the secret corridors and strode resolutely away from the unpleasant scene, otherwise he would have to answer to his bad behavior of flying out of the shadows and lunging at Raoul's neck.

He paused en route to fill his eyes with the vision of his beloved as she rehearsed, hoping to palliate his pain. Lingering in the shadows, he suddenly became aware of a very still figure also watching her from above. After several minutes the figure stepped back and vanished into planks and conduits that receded into the shadows too. Something about the secrecy of the way the figure watched her put Erik on full alert, though he wasn't sure why since her voice was truly captivating. Nevertheless, he tucked what he had seen away in his memory for future reference if need be.

While Erik observed, Raoul crossed the floor toward Christine, and then spoke to her a moment before they both turned in unison and left the opera house together. Christine hoped to set things straight once and for all with Raoul. While Erik was secure in the steadfast faithfulness of her love, he was not secure in the steadfast faithfulness of life or fate and the blows it dealt the unsuspecting.

Erik continued working while he was hidden in the shadows and minded the time waiting for Christine's return. Time stretched long and Erik's discomfort grew stronger when suddenly she burst with stomping feet through the front doors, impudently pushing them aside with both arms, and then marched forward with fists clenched and tears streaming down her face.

There was no time wasted when immediately upon entering she whirled angrily from one side and then the other as she searched above for her beloved, who surreptitiously stepped out of the shadows to make his location known, in a method obvious to her, but no other.

She scarcely noticed M. Gauthier who stood admiring her, and heard nothing of his inquiry after her well-being as she flew past him with single minded purpose and then vanished into the wall. He stared at the spot perplexed and then after glancing around walked over to scrutinize the wall panel, a look of wonder on his face. Erik realized M. Gauthier had been privy to her departure and sequestered the information safely away into his memory to take it out at a later time when he could ensure the security of the contraption that sealed the panel, but for now more important matters called to him. Christine had begun her ascent.

He rushed, cloak flying, down three floors and met her as she leapt half way up the second stairway. She grasped his waist while he stood towering above her on the next stair up. The buttons of his waistcoat pressed into her cheek. She shook her head, but no words came forth. Now he stepped down one more step though she was still glued against him. Finally she took a sobbing breath. She lifted her eyes to his and left a wet spot on his waistcoat.

"Will my life ever be my own?"

"What is it?" he asked while leading her down the final steps, his cloak stretched far behind as if he were royalty and then slipped off the final step and started its swaying at his ankles. His face was intently serious; his eyes glowed bright against his dark brow.

She swallowed her tears and the words tumbled out of her mouth. "Raoul. The ball." She swallowed again. "He wants Mme. Giry to debut me at the Ball so he can announce his intent to court me with marriage as the culmination. It's nothing more than a thinly veiled engagement."

"You mean at the Masquerade Ball?"

"Yes, there," she said and angrily brushed the tears from her cheeks. "He doesn't believe I have a suitor, since he's never seen me with anyone. He said he thinks I don't want to marry because I am afraid it will put an end to my singing career at the Opera Populaire and that he has no objection to my continuing to sing while I'm married."

"Magnanimous of him," he answered sardonically. He stood staring down at her, hands resting on slim hips. "Did he ever stop to consider whether this is something you want?" The vexing thought that she would possibly grow to want it, crossed back and forth through Erik's mind like a bee that stung every time it lit.

"No. He said he believes with all his heart he can make me happy. He told me of his magnificent manor and he dangled an exquisitely beautiful ring before my eyes, Erik."

"A ring?"

"Yes, a ring!" she said with a flash of sudden anger. "How dare he think that would sway me!"

She glimpsed the pain in Erik's eyes and reassured him quickly, "What matters is that I love my betrothed. I don't love Raoul. I've known nothing but love during my life from those close to me. To pull me from that path and put me on another would be the same as issuing a death warrant to my happiness. No expensive ring and no grand manor could ever fill the empty void. Erik I'm so scared!"

Her head spun and she clutched his waistcoat for support. He stilled her at the elbows, waiting for her to continue. She took a step closer, dropped her head on his chest and continued speaking, "I feel myself sliding into the whirling vortex of fate. A fate from which I cannot escape."

Her tears fell again on his cravat and waistcoat. The muscle at the side of his jaw clenched and his eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and pain: a pain that was all too familiar of having that which he dearly loved ripped cruelly away. Too often life had reminded him he was not its master, and now, the fate which yawned beneath him seemed to widen its sharp jaws beneath Christine too. But was it dangerous? Or was his judgment too clouded to see? How much he loved the slim girl clinging to him and how much he wanted the wonder of all life had to offer for her. Or did he? Self-doubt swirled sickeningly in the pit of his stomach.

Oh God! Did he have a right to selfishly keep her? Perhaps he did deserve her love but she did not deserve a life with a man without property or a name. Perhaps Christine would never get another chance like this again to marry a fine man like Raoul and it was he who stood between her and the rest of her life in a world that did not include cellars, secrecy, and hiding behind more than just a mask. If he was not seriously considering making her his wife why should he greedily take from her all those things that only a wife should give? What could he offer her? A fine ring perhaps, but no grand manor. His abode was more like the lair of a wild animal. A shudder ran through him as he remembered being treated as exactly that. That sick feeling again. Was that fair to her he wondered? Living in the lair of a wild animal? It made him want to retch.

The question became not could he fight fate, but should he? He wished he loved her less, but was this love? Or simple selfishness? His attention was again drawn to the form he held in his arms and a rush of feeling flooded his heart. Holding her in his arms clouded his mind and distorted his judgment. He knew what he must do. To think straight, he must be away from her. Thoughts of his old friend Juste popped into his head. It had been so long since he had seen him. Years. Not too many fewer than the same number of which he had been so enamored with Christine. Yes, that's what he needed – time alone to think, unfettered by the powerful emotions that made him drunk. Juste offered the perfect solution. Though he worried Christine would never understand.

He crushed her against his chest as he thought of leaving her alone. Fear rose in her eyes and he quickly released her and then pulled her against him swiftly and held her face as he kissed her mouth feverishly. She held his wrists and returned the endearment. He crushed her in his arms once again as tightly as her dared and then led her to her rehearsal where he said obliquely, "Until we meet again."

After rehearsal Christine rushed to her room fearing something was amiss since she had not once seen Erik step from the shadows to see her. Most unusual. When she passed through the doorway she immediately glimpsed a rose upon her pillow with an envelope attached. Her heart leapt into her throat and he ran to her pillow, clutched the rose and tore open the seal. It was a note from Erik that read:

My Dearest Love Christine,

The depth of my love for you blackens my vision and twists my judgment. Is it I who stands between you and a life of happiness and security? When I hold your soft and yielding form in my arms or hear the sound of your voice I am tethered to your love like the man feverish for the drug of the opium plant who seeks to blot out pain and sharpen his pleasure. But the one, your love, gives life while the other, a fool's errand, brings death and destruction, which makes this especially difficult. I fear all the benefit is to me and it is this inquiry for which I must leave you temporarily that I may understand the nature of a love that is true and the steps we must take to seal or sever our ties.

Today I must leave in haste while there is still daylight, but I will inform you immediately upon my return.

Do not worry about me, I have taken this path many times through the years and have a dependable contact and good friend who also provides a place for me to stay while I make my inquiries.

I love you with my whole heart,

Erik.

"Seal or sever our ties? Seal or sever our ties?" She read the words over and over again. What did he mean by that? She never wanted to sever their ties. Oh, why was he doing this? It made no sense. And who was this contact? She had never known him to leave the Opera Populaire. What if he never returned?

She was so scared she couldn't eat or sleep and even her love of rehearsal became a monotonous daily drone. Her mind was racked with fear over losing him. She grew thinner and paler as each day passed and at night she would awaken certain she had heard his robes moving and swaying in the night. Time had never gone so slowly for her as it had during these days. Why was it that life seemed interminably suspended only when he was absent?

OOO

That afternoon Erik, wearing a hooded cloak and a black mask that all but disappeared within the shadowy recess of the opening, strode resolutely to the stables and heaved a saddle over the back of the steed, Phillippe, kept ostensibly for Mme. Giry's use, and the bridle over his head. He leapt into the saddle and snapped the reins to goad the horse into a quick canter. The cobwebs that clothed his memory of the trail's tortuous path fell away as the old familiarity returned with each step Philippe took as he led him along the path until a perfect clarity of the trail was restored in his mind.

The trail followed and then diverged from the main thoroughfare and rejoined at several near convergences or kept to the wilderness depending upon the demands of the sojourner, or the necessity for concealment. Though a circuitous route, it was a safe trail for Erik who traveled in secrecy and who knew the complete array of the trail's twists and switchbacks, which made foiling interlopers a simple matter.

While en route to the cottage where he planned to lodge, Erik followed the sinking sun in the direction that led to a dense thicket placed halfway between the opera house and his final destination, where he had had the occasion to spend many a night safely sequestered from the prying eyes of the world. The encircling trees shielded the rounded out center so the wary traveler was able to build a fire without fear of discovery. Larger trees surrounded a thick copse of shrubbery and small trees, which, by the grace of god, parted in the center to reveal a window that opened into a night sky that was sprayed with a dusting of blue stars glittering so densely they could scarcely be numbered.

When Erik reached the thicket, long after sundown and well into the cold clear night, it was bathed in bright, silvery moonlight; the glow of the moonlight lifted the rocks and patches of grass out of darkness. The black figure of man and beast drew to a stop and Erik threw his leg over the saddle and leapt gracefully to the brittle ground and then tethered the horse to a heavy, low hanging branch. Dead wood was strewn haphazardly over the hard ground, which Erik gathered to build a fire both for warmth and protection.

Once the dead branches crackled and burst into flame Erik spread a canvas taut beneath himself and then slid into the downy confines of a warm enclosed bag for sleeping in the wood. A wave of homesickness for Christine washed sickeningly over him and he wished as ardently as the hot flames hypnotizing him now as he stared into them that she were with him and nestled snugly in his arms.

The glutted stars above shimmered like blue diamonds, and though strikingly beautiful, looked as barren and lonely as he now felt. In them, seconds before his eyes dropped shut, with his mind enshrouded in the gossamer webbing of sleep, he thought he glimpsed Christine's countenance but was unable to scrutinize the image of her as aching fatigue claimed his mind and all went dark.

The bright sun shining upon Erik's face awakened him; its warmth belied the cold that hung in the crisp, clear air, which when he threw away the covers made him long for the warmth of his friend's cottage. He hoped it would not be more than a half day's journey since his muscles were stiff from a lack of riding over the past several months.

Suddenly while Erik was preparing to leave the thicket, a cacophony of angry voices rose above the quiet countryside, shouting. He stepped into the leaves of the brush and squinted his eyes to see afar, wondering what was happening to elicit such mayhem. Several men pushed and shoved one another as they threw around what looked like the spoils from a raid on some poor, hapless soul. The men were rough and unkempt and argued loudly, hurling invectives at one another.

Erik stood next to Philippe and stroked his neck while he watched and waited for the quarreling and bickering to abate. Finally the voices dimmed and the men rode away, having apparently declared a precarious truce amongst themselves. Erik untied Philippe, swung up in the saddle and then urged him from the copse in time to see one lone man who was left behind turn and speed off on horseback in the opposite direction. Something about the man clicked with an uneasy familiarity, though he couldn't immediately place it. He made a mental note of it and promised himself he would examine it later.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and the trail was unusually quiet; not a single horse galloped along its path. No doubt the cold kept most away he surmised. Unbeknownst to Erik, the scene recently witnessed was becoming an all too frequent occurrence that kept many more would be travelers tethered to home and hearth than would normally be. Caution was the order of the day, but Erik made it safely to his friend's quaint cottage set far back and partially hidden amongst tall pines and dense foliage. The dark woods abutted the edge of town where a small but seldom traversed, though well-stocked library stood. It was the thing which claimed Erik's attention and which also had brought about his acquaintance with Juste since he was also a man enamored with books and music.

Erik swung out of the saddle and leapt to the ground, snapping some dry twigs beneath his feet as he landed. He tethered Philippe to a tree outside until he could move him to the stable later and then walked along the brick path that led to the roughly hewn wooden door of the cottage. He pulled on the heavy brass plate and let it fall to signal his presence. There was only silence and a pang of fear Juste no longer lived there burst into Erik's mind. He hoped not since bright daylight was slowly fading into the more muted tones of evening and the temperature was quickly dropping. He waited and then heard the slow creaking of the opening door. Suddenly, as Juste recognized his old friend, the door flew open wide.

The door was shy a few inches of Erik's height and he had to stoop to go through. Juste's height, on the other hand, was stunted by a spine that twisted and curved and settled to hunch at his neck, unbalancing his shoulders; but his uncommonly handsome face and quick mind, both of intellect and in matters of affection were in startling contrast to his body. His long, curling chestnut hair fell below his shoulders and was tied back.

"Welcome my dear, old friend." He embraced Erik warmly. "So much time has passed that I was beginning to fear for your well-being. Here, come to the fire and warm yourself. The crisp air blows right through layers and layers of clothing, chilling to the bone." He turned alert eyes to Erik. "Did you run into any trouble along the way?"

"Not directly." Erik recounted what he had seen. "Well, you were lucky, we've had marauders running roughshod over the countryside for months now. They've frightened a good lot of people with their pillaging and plundering."

"Is that so?" concern furrowed Erik's brow.

"Yes, that is so, so take care my good friend and trust your instincts. I would hate to see you come to harm. I've gone long enough without the benefit of your sharp mind and skillful dialectics." Juste's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled fondly at Erik.

Erik returned the smile and realized how much he had missed their employment of the Socratic Method. Had the passage of time really been so great? Juste vanished into the bedroom and Erik toward the hearth answering the siren song of the warm fire. He pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands together and then held his palms before it as he stared pensively into the roiling flames that hypnotically held his gaze.

A difference in the cottage seeped into his awareness and he swept his eyes around the small area straining to remember whether he had forgotten its comfort. It seemed changed though he couldn't quite put his finger on how. The size and shape were the same. A sizeable bedroom, a nice kitchen with a wood burning stove, and the living area and the guest quarters Juste rented out when friends and family weren't visiting seemed much more pleasant. A warm coziness permeated the atmosphere of the simply furnished but spotless cottage. Flowers in vases where there had been none now lit up the room. Ruffled curtains hung in the windows and colorful throws draped the chairs and sofa. Erik turned back to the fire and puzzled over the change.

Tiny mewling sounds came from the bedroom and wound their way into Erik's mind as it connected again to his surroundings. Now _this_ was very different. Slowly he turned his head in time to see a pretty woman cradling a very young infant against her breast stroll through the doorway. Juste followed.

Erik's eyes leapt to Juste's and he said "Has it been so long?" And then, eyebrows lifted in question, "You have married?" A pang of jealousy flooded his heart, which he chased away in irritation since he was gleefully happy for his friend.

"Yes, I'd like you to meet Brigitte," he swept his hand in her direction. She turned big, brown, doe eyes to Erik's piercing green ones and smiled. It made his heart contract since they were a little like Christine's. Her hair was long and gold and fell in a braid down her back. She was petite but still slightly taller than her husband, though she wouldn't have been.

"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur. I've heard much about you."

"Have you?" Erik seemed surprised.

Juste interjected, "Yes, you see, I've explained to her that none can best me in debates of a philosophical nature, except you."

A quick laugh came to Erik's lips. "I could say the same of you, my friend. He is much too generous." He gestured lazily toward Juste with his hand, while he turned an amused countenance toward Brigitte.

Brigitte laid the baby in a cradle and went to her husband to caress his face and ask "May I offer you and our guest sustenance? Our weary traveler must be famished."

Clearly she was of gentle disposition and adored her husband. He broke away from the conversation with Erik. "Yes my darling. Thank you."

He caressed her face in return and gazed lovingly into luminous eyes that glowed with affection, while his own eyes bespoke his belief that the gods of fortune had smiled upon him when she had consented to become his bride. The baby lay in her cradle and waved tiny fists in the air. Erik studied the threesome, and a painful longing coalesced in his heart and pushed its way to the surface. His face became grave. Erik's eyes fell upon the child. A beautiful child. Perfect in every way, without the defects of the father.

Brigitte went into the kitchen while Erik and Juste caught up on old times. The baby gurgled in the cradle. After a while Juste picked up the contented baby and wrapped her in his arms against his chest as they continued talking. The baby slept. Erik wondered if he would ever have the chance to do the same with his own child, but it seemed impossible if he were to give his Christine up to a better life with Raoul. His heart filled with pain each time it beat at such a terrible thought.

In the kitchen, Brigitte ladled a thick stew of carrots and peas from the garden and thick pieces of lamb with gravy into ceramic bowls and set them upon the table in front of Erik and Juste. The steam escaping into the air flooded into Erik's nostrils and made his mouth water. Suddenly conscious of his ravenous hunger, he was given merciful respite from the aching thoughts of Christine. The cottage was bathed in a comfortable orange glow from the fire.

They ate in quiet contentment and then Brigitte sat in a rocking chair near the fire to nurse the baby. Erik felt slightly self-conscious at first and then imagined Christine doing the same for their child but realism again assaulted him since he feared, too, ever imposing on his children the odious mark. Erik's thoughts strayed further. Nor was he sure how it would ever be possible for a man without a name to acquire property or a certificate of marriage. A wanted man. Erik chased the insolent thought away and his mind labored to recall his surname. At one time it had been his father's last name but was then changed to his mother's maiden name to shield him from the cruelty of the father, but he couldn't remember which was which, or even exactly what for that matter since he wasn't sure of the spelling.

Juste's voice cut into Erik's ruminations. Erik's pensive gaze was not lost on Juste who took the liberty of asking "Is there a woman?" Erik's eyes looked askance and each locked the gaze of the other as Erik searched for judgment in the query. There was none.

He answered, "Yes, there is a woman. A beautiful, kind, wonderful woman just shy of seventeen."

"Your protégé?"

"Ah yes, so you remember. Yes, one and the same."

The release of the information also mysteriously brought a blessed release of a portion of Erik's anguish, making that which was left more tolerable to bear.

"You love her." Juste asked, but it was more of a statement.

"Yes, and have for many years – many years from afar, that is until recently when everything suddenly changed."

"I detected a glimmer of that the last time you spoke of her."

Erik sighed matter-of-factly and shifted in his chair suddenly self-conscious about the transparency of his affection but forged on nonetheless, "Of late that love has blossomed like the uncurling petals of a rose."

"Is that love reciprocated?"

"It appears to be, yes."

"Has anything changed?" "No. But I fear that it will and I will be left emotionally destitute. What's more, I fear I need it to, for her sake."

Talking with Juste of such things was not uncomfortable since the quick mind and observant nature that resulted by necessity from his infirmities bestowed upon him the ability to understand with the mind of a woman.

"Why do you fear that it will change?"

"A certain Vicomte de Chagny has his eye upon her. He is a good man. Perhaps worthy of her. I question my right to stand in the way."

"The de Changy's are powerful indeed, both politically as well as socially."

"I believe it's de Chagny." Erik frowned.

Juste's brow creased in question. "I – don't think so, no I am certain."

"Well, no matter, perhaps I am mistaken. The point is, he has made known his desire to court her."

"Does she have the strength to withstand his advancements?"

"Yes, but should I place such a burden upon her?"

"Why is it a burden?"

"He can offer her everything I cannot. Wealth. Status. Title. An opulent lifestyle. Security. A handsome face."

"Does he offer her love."

"If my eyes do not deceive me, yes, but his ability to listen carefully and respond accordingly to her needs is still underdeveloped and slightly immature. Though I think that is a function of his years and not of an inability. In time that could change."

"Ah, yes, love of the highest order. A woman whose husband is conversant with the art of listening and then responding with love and kindness is well-loved indeed. Neither wealth nor beauty, alone or in combination, can rival that which is given by an attentive husband who loves his wife dearly. It pains me to say, I seldom see that in my parish."

Erik's eyes fell upon Juste's tranquil visage, "Your words are wise, but do they mirror reality? Do they speak truth? What I would give for them to be true."

"They are my truth." Brigitte finally spoke.

Erik had forgotten she was there. He turned thankful eyes to hers and said kindly, "Thank you, for sharing the thoughts of your heart." She smiled at him shyly, nodded and then reaffirmed what she had already volunteered when she said "I can't imagine a life happier than the life I have now with my kind husband."

"She is very gracious" Juste remarked as he turned again to Erik.

"I can see that you love Christine a great deal." Juste continued.

"With all my heart. I would marry her in an instant were it possible." The words leapt from Erik's mouth; he surprised even himself.

"Why is it not possible? M. Rabaut, the minister for whom I write music is quite liberal and performs marriages for those whose needs don't conform exactly to the dictates of society."

For one blissful moment Erik's mind entertained the idea and then tumbled back decades into the past to become littered with the memories of signs all over Paris of a sneering, unmasked child, with unkempt, matted hair, and a fiery red blotch gracing one side of his face, whose depiction read: _"The Devil's Child Walks Among Us. See the mark of the beast: a cloven hoof hidden beneath the mask, WANTED for murder, REWARD"_ gracing every street corner in the city. The same signs returned periodically throughout the years with the monster upon it increasing in ugliness as if the vendetta swelled ever larger and more vicious with time. Erik turned pain-filled eyes to Juste and stated flatly "I am a wanted man."

The memory of the pictures still had the power to unleash enormous pain. He continued partly out loud and partly to himself, "Has that happening ceased its torment? Or does it lie in wait? According to Mme. Giry, the latest attempt at locating 'The Devil's Child' had been three years ago. Have those in pursuit finally given up? That's a question presently I cannot answer. If it, or whomever, still lurks, waiting, then it would be unconscionable to place such a momentous burden upon Christine. And yet the alternative, living her life out in the cellars of an opera house, is that any better? I fear she is better off without me."

"I can't imagine such a gentle soul as yourself would truly be responsible for anything so heinous as to engender such a response, Erik."

"Unfortunately, I am responsible," Erik stated grimly.

"I trust you had your reasons then. I know you too well to expect otherwise."

"Yes – I had my reasons." Erik nodded absently. The look in his eyes was far away.

Both men suddenly became aware the roaring fire had abated leaving only glowing coals in its wake and a chill had entered the room. Brigitte stood from the rocking chair and cradled the baby in her arms as she walked into the bedroom.

Juste said "The late night hour encroaches. Perhaps that is for another day?"

Erik nodded, emotionally spent, and said "Yes, it's a tale that should be told, though perhaps not tonight. I suddenly feel overwhelmed with exhaustion."

"Don't despair yet, as they say, it isn't over until it's over."

"My greatest wish," Erik stated, "is to do what is right, and what is just by Christine. Something obscures my vision, and I know not what. I am afraid it is my selfishness. I don't want it to be the enemy of her happiness."

"Or the lack of, yours, my good friend," Juste broke in thoughtfully and held his gaze as they stood to retire."

Erik nodded, deep in thought.

"Will you consider it?"

"All right then, Juste. Yes. I'll trust that you see what I cannot."

"Very well then; I am satisfied."

Juste showed Erik to the guest room where he donned breeches and a white cotton shirt, collapsed onto the soft mattress and dropped immediately into a sleep that renewed. He woke late in the morning to the smells of breakfast wafting temptingly through the cottage and piquing his senses. His mouth watered. He entered the kitchen to the hearty good mornings and from Juste and Brigitte and plates replete with fat sausages, fluffy rolls, eggs dripping with melted cheese and generous mugs of rich roasted coffee that imparted generous tufts of steam into the cool morning air. The threesome enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before fully engaging in the upcoming activities that would demand their attention the rest of the week.

The remainder of the week passed quickly as Erik spent many an hour perusing books in a quiet corner of the library where he was undisturbed, as well as riding Philippe in the cool crisp air while he meditated upon his future with Christine. Or without. Juste spent long hours composing and arranging music for his parish since the season demanded it, which prevented further opportunity for deep discussion.

At the end of the week, with heavy heart, Erik decided he must not hold Christine, though he knew it would be the hardest thing he had ever done, including his forced role as the 'Devil's Child' to give her up for not only had Erik's feelings for Christine refused to diminish, they had grown and were straining sharply at the walls of his heart. But, he reasoned, loving her meant doing what was best for her. He was not best for her, though his heart, mind and soul ached for it to be otherwise.

Having made his decision he informed Juste and Brigitte it was time for him to depart so he made plans to return the following day. Juste, Erik and Brigitte embraced each other and said their goodbyes and Erik promised to visit again much sooner than he had this time around. Erik left at the break of dawn and committed himself to making the journey back in a day. The trip was uneventful and he made good time. The fear of his decision and of the unknown that cropped up in his mind as he hurried along the way were the only vexations.

OOO

It was on the seventh day that Erik returned. Wet with sweat, disheveled, and covered in a thick layer of dust, he rushed straight to Christine both to feast upon her beauty and to make her aware he was back. What he saw shocked him. Dark rings circled her eyes, her normally glowing skin was unnaturally pale, and she was terribly thin. Did he do this to her? Or had she been sick again? He signaled his presence. She whipped around and raced across the floor to see him. Yes, he had hurt her and he hated himself for it. Well, he was done hurting her.

She disappeared into the wall and entered the hidden corridors, leaping up the steps two at a time through the rafters to find him. He strode to her quickly, and opened his arms to her; she flew into his embrace. He whirled her around. Tears streamed from her eyes and mixed with the dust on his cloak and jacket creating muddy drops. How he hated what was to come.

"Oh Christine, my dearest Christine I love you so. But I've been selfish. I am ready to let you go. If I truly love you, it is what I must do. To keep you from an engagement is the height of arrogance."

Her brows rushed together in question as she turned her head up to stare intently into his eyes and shook her head that little shake, "What!"

"The Ball and your debut. It will signal the end of our union."

"No!" Anger flared in her voice. "Did you ever stop to consider whether this is something I want? she asked echoing his words about Raoul. "I don't love him."

"You would grow to love him. He is a fine man."

"No I would not. Don't do this to me! I am not a child. A few weeks hence and I am seventeen. Have you forgotten?"

"Yes, and a sage seventeen at that. No I have not forgotten. How could I? The first time I ever heard you sing was on your birthday. You were thirteen. Your voice captivated me. By your fourteenth birthday my feelings had already intensified."

"Have you loved me so long?"

"Yes."

"Then how can you let me go? To another man no less – one I don't love! How can you say you love me!"

She clenched her fist and stomped her foot and turned away from him. He stood confused, hardly knowing how to respond. He was doing this because he loved her, though she could not see it.

She continued with her back toward him and her head hanging. "You are going against the wishes of my father and my heart's desire to sing. Do you think when I am fat with child Raoul will allow me upon the stage?" She whipped around and faced him. "I'd rather be fat with your child! It's your child I want." By now the tears were falling.

She was doing it to him again. His heart and his conviction were melting. He stood staring at her, irresolute. She read it in his eyes and it made her brave.

"Don't I matter in this? Will you not listen to me? If you love me you will hear me."

Something echoed in his head, what was it Juste had been saying? Something about a man listening to the desires of his beloved. Oh, God, was he so stupid? He had thought nothing of her wishes.

"Yes, you matter."

"Then I'll say it once more. Love me. That's all I ask of you."

His resolve had broken into a million pieces and made little clinking sounds all over the floor.

She flew into his arms and his coat and cloak smudged her cheek and the dust coated the front of her clothes. She didn't care. Oh the wonderful, blessed relief of holding her in his arms and unleashing his feelings for her. For now, yes, she mattered, for now and for always. He would leave when she wanted to move on up to her, if ever, though he hardly dared think it. She was holding him so tightly and kissing him so fervently he could have wept.

When she allowed him room for a breath he said, "Come. Join me. But first I must get out of these dusty riding clothes."

"Please take me with you!" Still, she clutched him to her uncaring that his dusty clothes transferred brown smudges to hers, or that the cold clung uncomfortably to his cloak and chilled her.

"Do you want to come now then?"

"If I am parted from you one second longer I shall die."

"That is very serious." He said with mock gravity. "I can't have your blood on my hands now can I?"

"Oh I mean it! Don't tease! I've missed you so!"

His eyes rested on her troubled countenance. The eyes were large and smudged with circles underneath, but they had not lost their sparkle. How much he had missed her! He wrapped his arm around her and turned her in the direction toward his cellars. He loved her and there was no turning back. All he could do was find a way to make it the best possible for her. That new thought started plucking the strings in the back of his mind like sweet music.

OOO

Once back at his home Christine waited while Erik lit the fires next to the pool and then cast off his jacket and waistcoat to light the fires at the hearth. She sat by the fire in a pensive mood while he slipped into the warming water. The water felt as deliciously wonderful as the arms of a lover while the rippling waves carried the dust and grime away. He removed his mask and leaned back, relaxing with his back toward the curtain that now separated them. Christine's voice broke into his thoughts, "My love, I give you warning."

Christine trespassed around the curtain and spotted Erik's mask lying on the ground. His back was to her. "I am here she informed gently." His hand leapt speedily to his face and just as speedily an idea leapt into her mind. But Erik had other thoughts.

"Christine!" He said firmly. "I have removed my mask. Please. Come no further."

The whisper of clothing slipping from her body and gathering in a heap on the ground met his ears. "And I, my clothing. We are equals." His resolve faltered. The sound of her voice was like music, "I'll sit behind you and not look upon you, if I may?"

"It seems that will work both ways," but fear still enveloped him. Though he did not want to pass up this opportunity to feel her naked softness against his skin; he so loved her surprising little ways!

"On your honor, do I have your word?"

"Yes, my love, I respect you and your desires above all else."

"Then join me, please."

The water gurgled as her foot broke the surface and then her body slipped in and sent little waves dancing across it. She slid up behind him. Warm water flooded their bodies and caressed their shoulders. She pressed her body against his back and slid her hands around the front to lock on his shoulders. She touched her lips to the skin of his back and then laid her head against its slippery wet warmth. She loved the feel of the broad strength of his body in her arms.

He felt her silken nakedness blanket the length of his back and his mind delighted in the sheer intimacy and beauty of it.

"I wish I could gaze eyes of wonder upon you," he said wistfully.

"And I you."

The tone of his voice became icy and stern, something she seldom heard from him. "An unfair request, Christine. You are beautiful – I am not."

"You are beautiful to me."

"No Christine. It would only make you despise me, while my love for you would grow."

"Then you misunderstand the depth and intensity of my love for you." She gently squeezed his shoulders as they were locked in her embrace and pressed kisses to the wet skin to reassure.

"Erik," she said, her voice sleek and gentle.

"Yes."

"You may drop your hand. I have promised I will not look at your face. I would not say one thing and act on another."

She used his own words. It was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done, but he dropped his hand.

"Erik, I honor deeply and sincerely your choice to wear a mask but I would love you either way. It's not how you look that so enraptures me, it's how you are. Do you think the depth and breadth of my love could be swayed by something so simple?"

One lonely tear rolled silently down his face, though she couldn't have known since she sat behind him. "Your words give solace in a world filled with so much disdain, Christine, but I am not ready to bare my face."

"Then I can wait – forever if you wish." He unlocked her palms from his shoulders, pressed a kiss in the middle of each and said "You are sweet to me, Christine."

She hugged him tightly against her naked torso a moment longer.

She held her palms out and asked for the soap, which he tentatively dropped into her hands, wondering what was in store. She lathered her hands and then stroked them in lazy circles on his chest while she sat behind, and then moved away from his back to lather that too. After, she drew a cloth lovingly against his skin to rinse away the bubbles.

"I leave the rest to you my love," she said as she stepped from the pool. He sat dumbfounded, his skin still tingling pleasantly from the ministrations of her hands.

When she stepped from the water behind him he wished wholeheartedly to gaze upon her but his marked face and fear held him prisoner. He did not want to frighten her. She slipped on one of his clean shirts, which hit her mid thigh, and then wrapped herself in the robe he had given her. "Will you join me by the fire as soon as you are able?" she asked.

"Yes, I will be ready straightaway." Soon he too, clad in casual black breeches, walked around from behind the curtain while drying his hair with a towel, his mask replaced. She leaned against the bricks as she warmed herself by the fire, her eyes following him. Her hair tumbled like corkscrews about her shoulders. She looked small, swallowed up in the plump fabric of the robe.

"Oh Erik, I'm so very tired! I've hardly slept since you've been gone. The rush of seeing you after these many days is all that keeps me awake, but there is something I must know before I close my eyes to sleep."

"What is it my love?" he said while he continued rubbing the towel with one hand against the luxuriant, dark head of hair that tilted at a slight angle.

"Why did you leave me so unexpectedly?" He hesitated and then said bluntly, "I had to be away from you to think clearly."

Shock registered upon her face. "Why?"

"Because you are my opium. You cloud my judgment, you soothe my pain, you fill me with pleasure. I could not set you free.

"But I only want to be free to love you. And it is you who stands in the way of that."

"Yes, that was my lesson." He dropped the towel next to the hearth and stood, hands on hips, as he so often did, staring. He smiled. She took it as an invitation.

She crossed the floor to him, slipped her hands around his waist and then dropped her head against his chest. "Can you set me free now?"

He lifted her chin and searched her countenance; the curve of his lip was gentle, but unsmiling. "Yes."

"I appreciate that you want me to be happy, but don't you think I should help you with it just a little?"

"Absolutely I do."

"Good. Then we are in agreement." Suddenly she looked impish and coy. "Can I help you now?"

"Please."

"Take me to your bed and let me kiss you, and caress you, and breathe in your scent until I am filled and then hold me in your arms all night long while I dream of loving you forever."

Swiftly he swept her off the ground and into his arms and carried her to his bed where together they sailed away into their enchanting world of wonder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

She came to him again. Christine. She stood staring. Her face etched in horror. In vain he tried to go to her, to comfort her and hold her, but his body like lead, refused. Now her face was still. Yet he heard ragged breaths that came from hushed sobbing. Sobbing from lips that did not move. The winds rushed in and blew her gossamer gown of silken white. An unearthly white. It conformed perfectly to her every curve and was shockingly revealing, though it wrapped her from head to toe. Suddenly Erik lurched out of slumber, gasping, and sat upright, causing Christine to fall suddenly from his embrace.

But the sound of uneven breaths did not stop with end of the dream. Quickly he lifted her back into his arms and forced his eyes to focus on her face. Frail candlelight from a lone pariah burning somewhere within the cavernous room flickered in the glistening of her skin. Erik frowned quizzically and touched his lips to her cheek; his lips tasted salt, confirming his suspicions. The uneven breaths together with the watery streams testified that her weeping had crept into his dream. The recurrent nightmare that had become a menace. It unnerved him. His heart beat wildly and his lips curled downward in anguish as he gathered her against the downy matting of his chest while brushing soft kisses over her hair and rocking her in his arms, all the while willing his own tempestuous fears to abate.

He tried to draw away but she only clung to him more tightly as if upon releasing him from her arms she would find herself alone. He ceased trying to part from her and waited. Held securely within his arms, against his firm chest and amidst the familiar smells of leather and perfumed candles that clung to his skin, Christine's equanimity was soon restored. She turned a tear-streaked face up to the green eyes that already rested upon her and returned her gaze with lightning intensity. His voice was like silk as he asked "What is it that causes you such pain, my love?"

"It was so awful I am scared to tell you."

"What was so awful?"

"My dream."

His fingers were through her hair caressing her head gently as he said "Sometimes the release of fear is in the telling."

She dropped her eyes a moment and then lifted them to his again.

"It seemed so real Erik."

"What was it that seemed so real?"

She hesitated and then plunged forward. "You gave me to Raoul. You said you didn't love me any longer. You walked away from me, and I screamed your name and reached frantically for you but you continued walking without turning back. Finally you turned to stare at me a moment as if you were indecisive, and then you turned away again without looking back. I was crying so hard I thought I would die. Then everything around me melted away and I was suddenly staring at you as you lay in a coffin." She began to sob, "Oh, it was so awful! I put my arms were around your neck; I was screaming for you to take me with you; I refused to let you go. You felt alive. Suddenly you opened your eyes, clasped my arms, and cried out to me but my arms were thrown wide and you were wrenched from my grasp. I was thrown to the ground and it woke me up."

The dream made Erik shudder. He gathered her tightly in his arms and bent his cheek against her wildly tumbling hair while she slipped her hands again around the bare skin of his back. She pressed her lips against the warm skin of his neck and breathed in deeply the fragrance from the candles that clung to him. All that was familiar about him soothed her once again. How dreadfully she had missed him and how much it felt like death to be without him. Loving him was as natural and as much a part of life as breathing.

"Tell me that I am not dreaming now, and that you will never leave me. I will never tire of your smooth skin against my fingertips, your fragrance, the sound of your voice or the passion for life that dances in your eyes. I never want to let you go. Erik I'm so frightened! I fear something will take you away."

Her emotional fervor both titillated and startled him. "Shhh Christine," he was rocking her slowly against his chest again, "Yes I am here and always will be as long as that is as you wish it. I leave that entirely to you." A soothing calm began to settle into both of their minds as soon as he said the words.

She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by his proximity, his scent, the strength of his arms around her, and heat of his lips against her hair, enjoying the bliss of the moment before finally turning imploring eyes to his as she asked, "Promise me that you mean it Erik, every word?"

A heavy piece of dark hair hung to his chin and set off the light green eyes as he returned her gaze and reassured, "Yes, I mean it. Every word." He did mean it; he would never grant such a promise without genuine intent.

Dread suddenly crossed her features like the shadow of a cloud darkening the earth below and she asked urgently, "Do dreams mean something?"

"Dreams aren't like that Christine."

Fear burned holes into his thoughts as he wondered momentarily whether he were wrong, but shrugged it off as the irrational feelings that still clung from his own unsettling dream.

She shook her head and covered her eyes with her hands. "I couldn't bear it!"

He lifted her hands away from her face and peered at her with eyes that glittered, "If you are worried I will cease loving you let me reassure you that will never happen! It was a dream, Christine, and nothing more. If you ever leave me, I will love you till my dying day. If your dream has any relevance it is that life without your love would be like death, Christine. My only fear is that you deserve so much more! A better life than this." He circled his hand above his head as he turned his eyes upward with his countenance grim.

"I am content here with you."

He said quietly but firmly, "You deserve the kind of life Raoul can offer you."

"I deserve to be loved," she retorted passionately while she wrapped her arms around his back, and rested her forehead against his neck, "And that is what you offer me!"

"Yes, I do offer you that, but sometimes love is not enough. At one time I was content to have you here with me forever, but no longer."

She drew back and confusion knit her brow; her lips were almost touching his as she said, "But you said –"

He touched his lips to hers in a kiss and then replied, "I know what I said and I meant it, but I am not content with it. If you are to be with me, I want to give you the life you deserve. Not life in a cellar with a societal reject who hides a dark secret."

"You are only a 'societal reject' because you believe something that isn't true! The person I know is warm, honorable, wonderful and loving. Society doesn't deserve you!"

"Christine, your sweet innocence warms my heart."

"I am speaking the truth and it is borne of knowledge, not of innocence." Another thought leapt into her mind and she asked gently, "What is it I don't know?"

He stared deeply into her eyes and then dropped his countenance. Now was not the time to tell her. Would there ever be a time? "The time to tell you is not yet." Telling her was getting harder, not easier. He feared terribly the loss of her love.

"I trust that you will tell me when you are ready." It was a statement. She trusted completely that he would tell her. Her greatest fear now was that he would give her over to Raoul, thinking it was in her best interest.

"My father said you would come to me Erik. I can't believe you really did come, that you taught me to use my voice as an instrument and now that you love me. Please don't ever take it from me! Tell me once more that you won't.

"Unless it is your wish, I will not take it from you."

"And please never leave me for days at a time without any warning again!"

"I would only leave if you had severed our ties."

A cold emptiness rushed over her. "Erik it scares me. Don't put me through it!" Her words reverberated like dark whispers through his head, 'Erik it scares me. Don't put me through it' and made his soul shudder. Silently he vowed, he would not put her through such a thing ever again!

He wished he had not been so ruthless toward the tender flower of her affection. He cringed. Whether he thought he was worthy of her love was not what mattered. She loved him with an urgency that shocked him. Radiant elation steeled him with the courage to explore his doubts. He was terrified to let himself believe she could really be his; terrified that his selfishly taking her would somehow pave the way to his losing her. And how could it be anything but self-serving he questioned himself? The sinister dream must have something to do with that fear he conjectured.

Suddenly he became aware she watched him intently. She spoke. "Then I have your word you will not give me over to Raoul?"

"Not unless it is what you desire."

But even so darkness swept through his mind with the words. He continued, "On my honor, I will never attempt it again. Whatever my actions, they will come out of love, and not out of fear. That love includes heeding your desires. But you, you must promise me," he hesitated a moment before he went on to compose himself knowing full well that what he asked would bring indescribable pain if indeed it happened, "If – if your feelings change, or even if you tire of all that a union with me requires, you must promise me that you will leave. I have not the strength to force you away, but I have the strength borne of love, to let you go. I know that now. Will you promise me?"

She stared wide, disbelieving eyes into his and said not a word.

"You must promise me!" He shook her shoulders and an angry determination etched his features as he said it. Her tears ran silently again but she continued to hold his gaze.

"Yes – yes! I promise you," her voice was resolute though it shook with tears. She hated making such a promise but knew he would not be satisfied without it.

They sat in silence while she fought to regain her composure; her tears had abated before she said with her voice firm and steady, "Now there is something you must promise me."

"Yes my love?" he looked haggard in the wan candlelight and his voice was imbued with the lethargy that accompanies emotional exhaustion.

"Promise me with your whole heart that you meant what you said earlier, that you will be with me as long as I want you to be, that you will keep your word. That you will only leave if I request it. Or if," she hesitated, dropped her gaze from his, and swallowed to gather her courage, "If you stop loving me, and no longer desire me." How she hoped that would never be!

She lifted her eyes to his again and held their gaze as she waited patiently for his response. Since he was not one to break his promises he would not give his word until he had searched his heart and the depths of his soul. The eyes that reflected back at him were urgent and pleading. And brimming with love. Trying to wrench their love asunder suddenly felt evil and wrong. There was nothing noble about it.

"Christine," He gathered her and her upturned face in his arms and his lips grazed each eye. "You are so beautiful." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "And loving."

He kissed a heated path insistently across her full, yielding mouth. His breath against her skin and the heat of his soft lips against hers deprived her limbs of their strength and she hung in blissful contentment against his arms.

"How is it that I have come by the good fortune of a love so pure?" His heated lips grazed hers again and she responded weakly, her arms limp. His feelings of tenderness toward her were of an intensity he had never known. His heart felt as if it would burst.

"How could I fail to honor a request so virtuous?"

He was so close to her when he spoke that the heat of his breath danced upon her skin.

"My lack of believing I am desirable has made me deaf to the wishes of your heart. How wondrous it is to me that I am that wish, Christine."

The warm yielding lips that touched hers again between his words made her shiver. "In truth, I don't understand it; I can only trust that you know your own heart."

That brought the strength swiftly back into her limbs and she sat at once straight in his arms while her arms draped his neck.

"Yes! It is true; you are the wish of my heart!"

He slid his hands against each side of her face and his thumbs wandered onto her cheeks, barely grazing the skin while his eyes searched hers and the corner of his lip curved down in seriousness, "And just what, my love, are we do with that?"

It was a rhetorical question but the words leapt to her lips and she set them free.

"I want to be your wife."

She slipped her hands along the contours of his chest while she scrutinized the glittering emerald eyes to glimpse a hint of what was in his thoughts. Elation and then despair flicked through them as he studied her countenance intently.

Finally he said, "Do you mean that my love?"

She nodded shyly. "You said you are not content to let me go with Raoul."

"No!" he said and the word rushed through his constricted throat in a hoarse whisper. He crushed her against his chest and buried his lips into her wildly tumbling hair as he wondered how it could ever really be possible. He asked against her ear, "What happened to 'I never want to marry'?"

She turned her face up to his, "There is a woman now where once there was but a child. I want marriage and every privilege given by its union."

She dropped her countenance but continued her unwavering gaze into his from behind long lashes. An electric excitement crossed between them.

"You are certain?"

"Yes. I've never been so certain about anything in my life."

He touched his lips to her forehead and ran gentle hands along the sides of her ribcage, and over the cotton shirt he had given her to wear. He had not the heart to dampen her spirit with his reservations.

"Even in my wildest imaginings, I can conceive of no greater privilege, Christine, than to have you as my wife."

He meant it. The thought of it seemed as surreal as the shadows flickering all around them and distorting the lines and angles of furniture in the cavernous room. She exclaimed, "Erik, please promise me that you really mean it?"

"Yes my love, I really mean it."

Her arms went around his neck and her head dropped back while silent tears slid from her eyes. The awful fears that he would give her over to Raoul finally began to abate.

"You are my heart's desire, and have been for sometime."

That was it; he unleashed the floodgates and the emotions flooded into his heart like a rushing river. He meant it more than even he ever imagined he did and the relief it conferred shocked him. It felt as if darkness suddenly slipped from his thoughts, but in the back of his mind a steely worry about the ramifications of it pricked sharply.

Sensuous warm lips covered hers, gently, and then more insistently, deliberately parting them. She drew away to admire their rounded curve and then dropped her head back again to receive of their warmth. Between each heated kiss she said "I love you. My phantom. My angel of music. My dearest Erik."

Each tenderly kissed the lips of the other while falling slowly against the silken sheets – the fires of their passion lulled into soporific lassitude by the evening's anxiety, the flurry of emotions and the relief their promises each to the other had brought. Their lips never parted as each softly grazed the lips of the other even while speaking their endearments, and then pressed again the lips of the other in a lover's kiss.

It is thus that they wandered through the darkest evening hours together whispering words of promise and endearment, and then touching the lips of the other in a kiss, and then whispering again until each grew tired in the arms of the other and slid into the radiant glow of contented slumber.

Christine's mind floated lazily out of the depths of slumber and burst into wakefulness. The flames of the lone pariah had long since disappeared into a plume of smoke, which threw the room into an inky blackness. The darkness that had descended all around her stimulated her remaining senses into high alert. Goose bumps spread across her skin in a wave when she realized she was enfolded within the half-moon of his body around hers and his exquisitely formed hand rested warmly on the smallness of her silken belly.

The seeds of desire smoldered and exploded to life when he curled fingers that tickled against the silken skin in a caress as he slept. She shivered and turned in his arms and began as much out of curiosity as out of desire to draw her hands slowly and deliberately over the contours of his body while she scattered kisses against his lips and chest. His mind was wrested into wakefulness and desire flowed through his veins as the pleasure wrought by the ministrations of her lips and hands infused his soul with weak surrender and for a moment he wondered if he only dreamed.

The downy matting of his skin, the rise and fall of muscles that worked beneath the skin and the firm, flat stomach were exquisitely enticing and goaded her into pushing her explorations further. In the dark unlit chambers her eyes were wide with the discovery of the smooth skin against the firmness of him. He held his breath and then expelled it in a soft, deep moan but he did not stop her. Finally when he could stand it no more and feared embarrassment over her shock at his body's response he stilled her hands and then gathered her against him to place slow, tender kisses over her lips and down the satin skin of her neck all the while letting his hands glide under the nightshirt now thrown askew and over the silken skin of her body.

She was responsive and yielding against the slow pressure of warm, gentle hands. His breath was like warm summer winds against her skin. A surge a pleasure enveloped her like a wave and then broke into tiny electric trails that darted throughout her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed lips that trembled against the corner of his mouth and cheek and the swathes of hair that fell freely as it trespassed across his brow. Her body writhed against his in the dance of sheer bliss.

He wanted so much more from this beautiful, loving, young woman but knew the time was not yet so he placed his hands on her back and pressed her firmly against him while he began to slowly caress her back to dim the fires that burned. She relaxed in his arms and clung to him as he stroked her and whispered "My dear, sweet love, Christine."

She returned in a breathy whisper "I love you so." And then, heavy lidded and wound within his arms, fell sound asleep.

The next morning when Christine was awakened by the tinkling of cymbals, Erik, who knew the lurking danger that awaited him if he stayed, was gone from the bed. She slipped from the bed and swept her eyes around the cavernous room in search of him. A fire already blazed in the rock hearth and the rich smell of a coffee roast permeated the air.

"Erik?"

"Over here my love, at the organ."

She rounded the pillar as he turned to stare at her and their eyes met with an electric excitement that flashed between them, both acutely conscious of the promises and discoveries they'd made the evening before. A mass of wild curls hung down in front of Erik's shirt she wore tempering its plunge and giving him respite from the longing that chafed. Erik stretched the hand that held his quill toward her and curled his fingers to her in invitation.

Erik had awakened in the early dawn with his mind traipsing back and forth between angst and elation about thoughts of Christine becoming his wife. Grim thoughts of the path that must be navigated before their union could be sanctified as well as dark anticipation of the things about himself of which he must make her privy assailed him. The prospects before him, while not overwhelming, were daunting, but not nearly as daunting as the idea of losing this beautiful woman who now floated toward him with his shirt falling mid thigh and curls that framed her face like a halo. She was his angel of music.

When she reached him she caressed his face and he pulled her onto his lap and held her close, his pen still clutched in his hand. She rested one hand around his neck and ran one hand against his cheek and into his hair as she dropped butterfly kisses at the corner of his mouth and then spoke "Do you remember last night?"

His eyes pierced hers as he said, "How could I forget such a wondrous night?"

The glittering green eyes and the strength of his body against hers inflamed the love in her heart and ignited her desire.

"You have the love of my mind and my soul. This morning I offer you the love of my body. Will you take me to your bed and let us finish what we began?"

His pen clattered loudly to the floor; the echoes of it splintered the cavernous quiet and he turned his head slowly to her, lips parted in shock. She kissed a sensuous path along stony lips that knew the slightest response in return would shatter the armor of his resolve into a million gleaming pieces.

"Christine – I – I – " he stammered, "I – " how much he did want this! But he went on, "we have not been given in marriage and there are so many other considerations."

Not the least of which, he mused to himself, was that he couldn't even begin to fathom how she could accommodate him. Were all women like that he wondered? Or was it the tender petal of her youth? He was sure that he would hurt her and she would hate him for it. The thought of her hating him for just such a reason sickened him. Or what if she found him distasteful? His mind slid back to the night before. No, not that. Fortunately that seemed very clear. He breathed a sigh of relief.

How he had dreamed of this day, yet never truly imagined it would be upon him at all, let alone right now, thrust upon him in the form of this warm, loving woman pressing her lips slowly and sensually to his this very moment, while softly threading fingers through his hair. The yearnings within him sprang to life and the memories of the night before seared his senses with renewed pleasure. Selfish desires and intense longings raged into a sharp hunger that pleaded with him against good judgment to take her to his bed, cradled in his arms and then to cover her, engulf her and finally become one with her. But other thoughts pricked at the back of his mind like red-hot coals: the supreme importance of her care and protection. My god, how harsh this was!

The hard knot of desire roared through his veins like thunder and threatened to silence his resolve. And then a wave of cold reality crashed over him: there was too much he didn't know, and too much that he did. He stood abruptly and she slipped against his legs tumbling almost to the floor but he caught her around the wrists and lifted her swiftly up to him and then threw her wrists away and stepped back just as quickly as if her wrists burned. He could not bear having her warm, silken skin against him in this thorny moment of weakness. He backed away from her further and clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of her to keep his ardor in check, his mind tumbled into the cusp of reason.

"Do you not want me?" She stood alone in the middle of the room with a forlorn look of hurtful rejection nestled within the round shining eyes.

"Oh, Christine! Of course I want you! Every particle that imbues me with life screams to take you to my bed and hold your naked silken skin against mine. I could devour you, and that is my dread. A headlong fall into euphoria that leaves you wounded along the wayside. This must be something that is wonderful for you too."

"It would be."

"I am not certain of that Christine. And there are repercussions, terrible repercussions; I've seen them. Besides, you are barely more than a child."

"I am a woman. One who loves you so very dearly."

He stopped the tortured pacing dead in its tracks and his eyes swept over her with his shirt falling open almost to her waist, and the length stopping at mid thigh bringing to a crescendo the memories of her warm, yielding body against his hands the night before. Yes, indeed, she was a woman, recently initiated, true, but a woman nevertheless. That lent a certain comfort. Still –.

He brought his hands to his eyes, no, he couldn't he reasoned as shrewder thoughts wended their way into the mind ravished by desire that was wrought both by love and the scorching memories of the evening before.

"And I am a man," he said solemnly, "one who loves you so very dearly. Christine, to ignore the consequences of our union and the matter of your well-being, as well as your pleasure would be unconscionable on my part. And that is what I would be doing if I took you now. Though, God knows, I want to."

She crossed the space between them and then slipped her hands around his waist and ran her palms up his back in a caress while gazing longingly into his eyes. His jaw muscle worked and his body stiffened as he drew away and said firmly, with a wry twist of his lip, "Christine, you are not making this any easier."

"Why? I only want you to know how much I love and adore you."

The love she felt filled her heart and her eyes, making plain her devotion. She never imagined she would love somebody as much as she now loved Erik. She loved the way he held her tightly against his body at night, the way he tenderly kissed her lips, the way he spoke to her with gentleness and understanding, and the way he listened to her heart's desire. But most of all she loved the way he steadfastly considered her wishes and needs. Except right now. Why would he not love her? She wanted him so desperately! His body suddenly relaxed as the innocence written upon her face wrote itself upon his heart and charmed him. His voice and countenance softened as he continued.

"You do love me don't you?"

The electric green eyes studied her. It was as much a question as it was a statement. The full force and wonder of it hit him as he remembered her erstwhile reluctance to simply sleep in his arms at night or want him in marriage, but now she offered herself completely to him wholly out of love. He exhaled a large breath as he stepped toward her again and took her hands in his saying, "What wondrous thing did I ever do in this life or the one before to deserve a gift so precious?" and then wrapped her in his arms and held her head against his chest with slow fingers caressing her temple. "Never will I violate that love Christine."

She was lost in the breadth of his chest and the arms that encircled and caressed her; his enticing scent assailed her senses, and the downy matting on his chest tickled her cheek. The voice that came forth was subdued.

"But you once wanted my love."

He pulled his head back and stared down into shining eyes as he said passionately "I still do! Though I could wait a very long time for you if need be. God knows, I have."

"But you needn't wait any longer. I am ready and ardently desire to give myself fully and completely to you now. Please, I love you so."

She slid her hands around his waist, dropped her cheek against his chest, and held him very tightly. A twinge of desire ripened and then exploded again into little electric shards that splintered throughout his body. He wavered, but only for a moment.

"My dear, sweet, Christine, you have not a hint of how difficult this is for me do you?"

"It doesn't seem difficult."

She turned her face up to his again and held his gaze evenly.

"Then I am doing a stupendous job of faking it. I am dying to take you this second and love you with wild and tender abandon." Calmer emotions began to prevail again and he said "As I said once before, Christine, it's not because I don't love you, it's because I do."

And don't forget, my love, there are repercussions, especially ones that affect you directly."

"Such as?"

"Your growing a child within you for one."

"Growing a child?"

He panicked as he remembered her innocence before. "Christine, please tell me this is something you know."

He dropped his face near hers and placed his hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched hers with dazzling intensity while he waited for her answer.

"Yes, of course I know, but I confess, I had not thought about it as a direct consequence. I would love a child of yours – someday."

The sparkling green eyes staring at her with such strength made her all that much more aware of how completely he owned her heart.

"Yes but not yet! he interjected, his voice slightly tinged with frustration at her naiveté.

He walked away from her and stood with his back to her while he ran his hand through his hair in thought and then asked, "Wonder if the child took on the mark that is mine?"

"Then we would love the child just as your mother loved you!"

"Yes but I dread the thought of it for while we would love the child the world would not, and I abhor the thought of a child taking on the plight that has been mine." He turned back to her and she clutched his hands and her eyes burned holes into his eyes.

"Promise me, Erik, you will not deny me a child that is yours!" Her passion startled him.

He softened and said gently, "Not out of hand, my love, but we must carefully consider the ramifications of it."

"Does that mean then, that you won't?" The power of her gaze and the intensity of her longing disarmed him as the wishes of her heart so often did. "It would mean the world to me my love, but I don't want to be foolish about it."

Somewhere in the back of his mind from the days of the traveling fair, memories of the ravages of parturition assailed him and he feared for himself. She seemed so fragile and vulnerable; he'd rather die than lose her. She exhaled heavily with relief while he felt the gales of responsibility whip stinging gusts around him. If he was willing to die for her, then, certainly, he was willing to live life and all that it demanded of him for her too, though he suspected he was all too vulnerable and his judgment easily clouded when it came to giving in to her wishes since he loved her so.

"Are you sure you don't think our love is woefully deficient?"

He looked at her incredulously, with brow drawn low over his eyes and his forehead creased. "Yes. Christine, even in my most fanciful dreams I never imagined a love so wondrous. You are generously affectionate and sensitive toward me, tolerant of my curious circumstances, engaging, gentle, and loving, to name a few from a very long list. So you see, there is much we have to draw upon to make our union gratifying. All those things sustain the thing that is lacking."

He felt her big, soft eyes resting on him and making him vulnerable again. "Though I confess Christine, with all my heart I long for that day."

She crossed the short space between them and he steeled himself against her charms as she ran her hands over his chest and around his neck and softly touched her lips to his and said "Then why not today?"

His handsome visage filled her vision with the expressive, wideset eyes of jade, the sensual curve of his mouth, the long straight nose eclipsed in white and the perfectly chiseled jaw, making her knees wobble with the mounting desire. A moment of weakness surged through him recklessly but he cast it back to its inferior rank.

"No. I love you too much."

It was true, love drove him; this was torture.

She smiled mischievously and said "Then could you stop loving me for an hour or two please?"

He laughed heartily and said "I already tried that remember? It got me into all sorts of trouble. We are back to square one."

He paused and dropped his eyes to her lips before he touched them with his and asked between kisses with his voice sober, "Do you understand – it is my love for you – that galvanizes – my resolve Christine? I love you with my whole heart, mind and soul."

"Yes, but I want your body too," she said as she pushed his ruffles aside and dropped kisses on his chest while she breathed the enticing fragrance of him that set her heart on fire.

"It is truly wonderful to be so desired."

"Then when?"

He became aware of how tightly she pressed her body into his and how tightly she held him in her arms as she looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"We'll know when the time is right, my love."

"Promise me you'll not torment me as long as I've tormented you?" Her eyes were round and imploring. Again laughter jumped from is lips. His laughter was intoxicating.

"This time we have come full circle." He couldn't quite believe it himself. Revenge did not taste sweet.

Suddenly his features waxed serious and his voice became gentle as he said "Do you remember what you told me last night?"

He watched her eyes keenly, like a cat ready to pounce, to take in every nuance of her response. Did she even remember the promises they had made in the shadow of her frightening dream? Fear and despair slashed into his thoughts and he hardly dared hope. The old habit of doubt always seemed to rear its head.

She stared up into eyes that burned green fire and felt his arms wonderfully snug around her. "I said I want to be your wife." She rushed to say, "And I do! I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

She suddenly felt shy and dropped her eyes from his as she said, "Do you remember your answer? And then all at once she worried he would have forgotten, or changed his mind and she blurted out, "You said you would!"

"Yes, I remember," he said with his voice silken and calm, though his heart leapt in his chest. "I would not forget something so wonderful."

"Erik, do you really think so?"

"How could I not think it wonderful when the most beautiful, loving woman in the world wants to be my wife?"

Her voice sounded like the tinkle of chimes as she said "There isn't a person in the world luckier than I."

A dark cloud blanketed his features and flung his mind squarely into reality's clutches making him question whether it was true. She caught the change in his features and questioned "My love?"

"I wish ardently for it to be so, dear, sweet Christine."

Pangs of hunger, both physical and those of hope, gnawed into his awareness and caused him to drop his arms and clasp her hand and then turn away to lead her toward the hearth as he said, "Come my love, to the hearth, you must be famished." She watched appreciatively as the fine form of him set off in front of her and she realized that it was true.

He put fresh beans into the coffee pot and lifted it into the fire since the other had long since grown cold. She sat on the hearth and leaned against the stone with her brows rushing together in question, "How is it that your love is so alive when you have been away from the affection of others for so many years and it has been so long since you lived in your mother's care?"

"My past was my armor, Christine, and then there was you." She loved the thought that she had somehow sustained him unknowingly, but her 'Angel of Music' had done the same for her. Still there was a question.

"It's been a decade since I've seen my father, but it seems a lifetime." "And yet you remember his lessons," Erik interjected quickly as if to defend himself. "But it has been even longer for you." Suddenly her brow furrowed sharply in anguish. "Erik, you'll not forget how to love me once we're married will you, like some husbands do? I would die!" She turned frightened eyes to his. "Erik, say you won't."

He turned from the fire and sat facing her as he reached to caress her face and replied gently, "Of course not my love. That is not something one forgets. One may pretend for a while, but one who truly knows does not ever forget."

He thought a moment and said, "Think of all times we've waltzed together and haven't forgotten how, yet we both learned as children. Why would love be any different?"

Again he paused a moment, lost in thought, and then seemed to change the subject as he said, "When you learned to waltz, did you learn the Allemande form?"

"No."

"Come, into my arms and let me show you while we await the coffee then." He stood and expansively held out his arms to her and waited. A sense of giddiness filled her and she jumped up after him.

"The rhythm is the same but the arms intertwine at the shoulder and must be kept at a certain distance while the feet keep to the steps of the waltz. The importance is keeping the arms at shoulder height and at least this distance apart." She was again under his spell as she let him drop his hands to her shoulders. Several times he patiently showed her with steadfast gentleness and then practiced the execution of the steps with her.

"Oh my love, this is so fun, I love doing it with you."

He whirled her to a stop and kissed her on the forehead; his confident air entranced her. "Now, let's eat breakfast and we'll come back to it."

As they sat by the fire he handed her hot coffee swirled with heavy cream and a plate of sweet berries and bread that dripped with butter and cinnamon.

"I'm famished," she said.

"Please, eat, he gestured toward the food. "You could use a bit more roundness."

"Are you displeased?"

"No, you please me very much, but if you were to get sick again you could be in danger with so little in reserve. I want you with me a very long time. Not to mention the importance of tending your voice."

"Yes, what of that once we are married?" The words rolled pleasantly off her tongue. The word echoed like a dream in his head.

"That, my love, is entirely up to you."

"I would love to continue singing, but more than anything, I would love to continue singing with you."

"That would be my wish also, though that could require some shrewd maneuvering."

"Erik, how long must we wait? I'd marry you today if I could!" Her words warmed and charmed him. How he wished they could marry today! He felt a sudden urgency about it that alarmed him.

"It means the world to me that you would, my love. There is no greater gift than the fullness of your love."

"But you keep refusing it," she quipped.

That brought a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He reached to caress her cheek with the tips of his fingers and said with tender emphasis "I love you and never want to lose you."

He ardently hoped he was doing the right thing by her. It seemed a selfish thing with all the benefit on his side. She read the doubt in his eyes and said as she clasped his hand to her cheek "You give so much more than you know."

After that he ate in silence and doubt crept into his mind again as he wondered whether he did offer her so much. He thought of Juste's comments to him about marriage. Should he tell her? If he did it would seal their fate and start them down a path from which there would be no turning back. And he, nor she, really had any idea what rusty wheels this proposal would crank into action. So much of what lay ahead was obscured by uncertainty. How soon did he dare get her hopes up and take that step?

Suddenly she broke his reverie "Erik, what of Raoul and the Ball? Please don't let him announce his desire to court me with a ring of engagement."

Her words made him recoil in anguish. He must act now, that decided it. A mask of solemnity settled upon his features and his mouth was set in a hard line.

"Christine, my love?"

"Yes?" He had her rapt attention?"

"I have a friend who works closely with a cleric…"

"You have a friend?" "Yes my love, I have a friend." His eyes danced as he watched to see if she would gather the meaning.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that you have never mentioned him."

"True, I'd all but forgotten about life outside the opera house of late, which is rather meager indeed, though not nonexistent."

"Anyone who had the good fortune of knowing you would want to be your friend, my love."

"Thank you." His eyes shot her a quick glance. Suddenly the word 'cleric' washed like a flood into her mind. She looked at him abruptly.

"Erik, you were saying – "

"What was I saying?"

"Erik, don't tease about something so momentous!"

"What do you think is so momentous?" He wanted to be certain she was excited about what he thought she was excited about.

"You mentioned the word _cleric._" An inscrutable intensity splashed across her face. Suddenly he felt presumptuous and doubted himself.

"Do you see that as something favorable or as something distasteful?"

She set her plate aside with a clatter, leapt into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "Something wonderful, if you mean by it what I think you do."

The words emboldened him. "Christine, there are obstacles to overcome, and those obstacles can't be understated," he glanced at her to make sure she absorbed what he said, she nodded, "but this friend I mentioned knows very well a cleric of a more liberal persuasion who may be willing to help us."

"Help us how?" Her eyes fastened his intently.

"My dearest Christine, he sang softly, 'say you'll share with me one love one lifetime, say the word and I will follow you, share each day with me, each night each morning, anywhere you go let me go too, love me that's all I ask of you.'" She responded eagerly in kind "'Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime, let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you here beside you. Promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you.' Tell me it's true, Erik, that one day you will make me your wife."

"Yes, Christine, I intend with my whole heart to find a way."

Suddenly she sat upright on his lap and said "Erik, what name will I be taking? What is your surname?"

"That's the first obstacle to be overcome."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No. Not with any real confidence. At one time my mother changed my name from my father's to hers to shield me from him. She promised she would tell me the whole story when I was old enough to understand, but as you know she was taken from me, when I was ten."

She detected a barely discernable drooping of his eyes at the corners and said, "Yes, I'm sorry my love."

"It was a long time ago," he said pensively.

She thought a moment and then said, "What if you were to take mine?"

He leaned back against the hearth and drew his thumb and fingers against the rough stubble of his chin while she sat precariously on his lap with her legs dangling.

"That's one possibility I would consider were it not for your burgeoning fame that is now rippling throughout the city. No, too risky. Yes, this will require some thoughtful consideration."

She went back to other matters. "You mentioned a friend?"

"He was a person I met who offered lodging to travelers in his home, particularly those seeking anonymity - usually for political reasons, and with whom I later became friends. We have many similar philosophical beliefs, and share a love of music. He writes the compositions for the church of this particular cleric I mentioned, which boasts a rather large and lively choir, and several musicians."

"Erik, I would love to me to meet him! Will you take me there?"

"How well do you sit a horse?"

"Very well wrapped in your cloak and enfolded in your arms."

"Yes, I was afraid of that. Perhaps we could go out together in the early hours of dawn so I could teach you. I know of a trail in the lowlands behind the opera house that leads to a clearing a few hours out that is situated comfortably between some angled drumlins, which unless one knows of its whereabouts appears to vanish. Few know it even exists. I rode it often when I was young, as a matter of fact, right up until a certain someone turned my head and kept me ensnared by her charms, beauty and talent did I ride, but once caught, then the number of trips fell off considerably."

She smiled and her dimple jumped out, ensnaring him once more. He continued "The trails cut for carriages are dangerous right now. Marauders. But, yes, I think we should visit Juste to find out exactly what we need to do to proceed with our plans. And, you could meet his wife; he married this past year."

"I would love to meet them both. Erik, it seems like a dream."

She started sliding precariously down his lap and he sat quickly to clasp her in his arms. She encircled his neck and whispered into his ear, "You are my dream."

He was Christine's dream? Life did deal its little surprises. That flung the nightmare of the evening before wantonly into his mind again. He pushed it aside but not before realizing the white gown she wore in the dream looked strikingly similar to a wedding gown.

He turned his thoughts quickly to other more cheerful matters. "Come, my love, once again will you be my partner?"

He set her feet to the floor and strode into an open area that flickered in the radiant glow of candlelight, turned, and lifted one hand out to her and waited. He seemed not to know that he looked magnificent. His broad shoulders, flat stomach, and the muscles that worked beneath the sheen of his skin that caught the glow of the flames, blazoned an image upon her mind and heart that electrified and caused her heart to skip a beat as she followed along his path. She came to him as he stood regally and gazed up into the dancing green eyes that still retained the elation following from the promises and pledges that heralded the turn of events. She stood as if confused.

"My love?" his eyebrow lifted.

"Y – yes? she stammered. How strikingly handsome he is she thought, with all other thoughts having flown from her head, including the execution of the steps, her feet stuck.

"Let's do as before. May I?" He bowed slightly and dropped his hands to her shoulders. Still she didn't move.

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten what waltzing does to you. Perhaps this was a dangerous lesson after all."

"You do it to me," she blurted out. He glanced at her sharply to read the emotion in her face. All question of the gravity of the statement vanished when her dimple jumped out as she smiled.

"I'm sorry, but there are times that you steal my breath away and make it quite difficult to think clearly."

"You smile as if that were a good thing."

"It is a good thing. You are beautiful and I love you."

His arms slipped around her and he squeezed her tightly while peeking down at her with eyes that sparkled in wonder. "My dearest, sweetest Christine. How can my heart hold any more without breaking?"

"I will never break your heart!" Her brows rushed together in defiance. He found it endearing and a smile leapt to his lips.

"Nor I, yours."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Now. Are you ready?"

"Yes, quite."

In perfect rhythm they started as he sang almost teasingly the rhythm of a waltz for her and together they executed the steps flawlessly."

That he moved so gracefully and with such ease titillated her. His voice was low next to her ear as he said, "See how easily it comes to you now despite our break and despite that it is slightly different from the original? It is thus with love, Christine. I am a new partner doing an old dance. The interplay over a long period of time with your father left an indelible mark that can be summoned and honed again at will. No doubt you did the same dance of affection with your father that I did with my mother. So you needn't worry, I'll not forget how to love you. Just like you remember how to waltz after having learned how, whether you have done it one time or 20 in the last decade, you remember the dance of love whether you have done it one time or twenty; it is written in your soul."

She replied thoughtfully, "Then we owe our parents quite a debt of gratitude, then, don't we?"

"One that will be repaid when we do the same for our children."

"Did you say 'our children'?" she said coyly, but held his gaze with bold insistence." She had ensnared him.

"Yes my dearest Christine, I hope that is in the stars too," he gave her another of his lavish smiles that once had been so rare and whirled her to a stop and then bowed slightly to signal the end of the waltz.

"Where did you ever learn to waltz so beautifully?"

"My mother taught me."

"Your mother knew how to dance?"

"Yes, very well, like you. She worked as a governess for the merchant's class, whose incomes arose chiefly from the work of their own hands and who resided along the outskirts of smaller provinces – many of whom were proponents of Rousseau's teachings." And then he said, more as an afterthought, "She didn't relish moving in the circles of the titled, though I'm not sure why."

"What did his teachings have to do with anything?" Christine asked.

"He was against sending newborn babies off to wet nurses for their first two years or sending older children away to be educated within the bleak deprivations of indifferent boarding schools, but instead admonished parents to keep them home under their watchful eye where they would be nurtured and educated with the help of a governess. That is where she came in. She taught her charges a whole array of subjects including musical instruction and dances of the court. Needless to say, I benefited, and it stuck."

"Who would send a baby away?" she asked incredulously. She couldn't even begin to imagine having been sent away by her father. The thought horrified her.

"Plenty apparently. It became quite a problem. Many of the very young died as a result of their neglectful or abusive wet nurses, and the population was already stagnating."

"I would never send your baby away!" she said passionately.

"Nor I! I know all too well how terribly some adults treat children." His eyes became pensive and his expression pained. Abruptly the subject changed.

"Who treated you so terribly Erik?"

His mind was catapulted back to the present. The darkly green eyes penetrated hers. Her brow was creased in question and her expression revealed distress. He couldn't bear to tell her how he was taunted and whipped and paraded as a freak. It was too painful and humiliating. Or, even darker, that he had done the unthinkable. What would she think of him then? Would she still love him? The thought of losing her love over events so far in the past suddenly became unbearable. But he knew it must be done. When? Not yet, he couldn't bear it. "Christine – it's an ugly story."

"Did someone hurt you?"

"Let it suffice for now to say only this: 'yes'."

It hit her as a blow and she felt sick for him. A fist of sadness clutched her heart. She turned away to hide her tear-filled eyes and after a moment said, "I wish I could have known your mother. Where is she?"

"They told me she was dead and I assumed it was true, otherwise I am certain she would have come for me, but she never did."

His eyes became reflective as he remembered how they pushed unkempt, dirty faces up to his and taunted him about the death of his beloved mother. "Oh, I'm so sorry my love."

"Yes, so am I. But now I have you. Would I have had you any other way?"

He clasped her hand and led her to the hearth where they sat once again to bask in the warmth of the fire.

Suddenly a dark pall was cast over his happy mood and the good fortune of having Christine's love. He worried it would all be lost forever when she knew. He cursed himself for not having told her yet and for allowing them both to descend deeper into the glowing abyss of their union. He promised himself he would give the vexatious problem careful examination later.

He pulled out the pocket watch that weighted his light jacket and glanced at it. "Oh, how time has flown! It's almost noon! Mme. Giry will wonder where you are and I haven't seen her since I've returned."

He slid his fingers into her curls and brushed her lips tenderly before releasing her to don her attire for rehearsal. "We'd better make haste."

She lit across the room and then halted to gather her attire for rehearsal, moving still within his purview; he could see her pulling his nightshirt over her head and slipping into her gown for rehearsal with naive aplomb. He watched her, riveted, and silently thanked heaven above for the huge expanse of floor that threw down a protective distance between them. He loved that she trusted him, but it didn't make things easy for him.

Shortly after, Christine and Erik slipped through the mirror into her bedroom and Christine hurried over to the bed, sat down and slipped her hand under the pillow and said as she searched, "It was cold and lonely sleeping in my bed all alone so I slept with your note under my pillow every night that you were gone. The strange thing is, without you here I felt like I was being watched, yet when you are here you often come into my room and I have never felt that."

"Perhaps it's simply that you felt unprotected." He walked up beside her and dropped his hand on the nape of her neck in a light caress.

"Perhaps."

She withdrew her hand, empty, and then threw the pillow aside.

"Erik, it's not here. The note's not here! That's so strange. I know I left it here yesterday morning."

"That's sweet that you slept with it under your pillow, my love, but are you sure you didn't move it somewhere else yesterday morning, perchance, for safe keeping?"

"Yes, I am certain I didn't."

She threw back the covers, but the sheets were bare of the note. "I don't understand."

Shivers crawled up her spine, and she shuddered.

He reassured, "I'm sure there must be a simple explanation, my love. No doubt it will turn up. We'll look again later."

Erik caught her wrists, pulled her to her feet, kissed her tenderly and said "You will be in my thoughts every minute today. Your promises and your love mean everything to me."

She dropped her countenance, her eyes misting and hugged him so tightly she could hear the breath leave his lungs. "Sometimes I feel so scared when you depart that you'll be taken and I'll never see you again."

"I will always return to you, my love. That is my pledge."

His words filled her with profound meaning. "Do you mean it my love?"

His countenance became somber and the emerald eyes smoldered with devotion. "Yes."

He turned with one last lingering look and then departed into the black corridors. Minutes later much scrambling and jostling as if the thing behind were hit with unbridled panic assaulted Christine's ears. She ran to the mirror tugged it aside and stepped into the blackness. She saw nothing. She called after Erik but there was no answer. A creeping wariness flushed through her and she hurriedly finished brushing and pinning her hair into place.

A short time later while Christine darted off to rehearsal she watched in horror as M.Gauthier exited from the door of the secret passages looking as if he had just seen a ghost. His face was ashen as if every drop of blood had drained from it. When he saw Christine his face exuded concern. Christine wondered how he had found out about the secret passages, though as a stagehand he had probably learned there were many.

He walked briskly to her and said "Is all well with you Mlle?"

"Yes I'm well thank you."

"You're not frightened?"

"No, why would I be frightened?"

"I fear there may be some evil lurking here in this opera house."

"There are rumors of an 'opera ghost'" she said "but as I understand it he's quite benign."

"My sensibilities tell me you are in danger, Mlle." And then his voice became low and slightly menacing as he said, "I've seen an apparition that haunts your room."

Christine felt the hair at the nape of her neck prickling uncomfortably.

"It may be your imagination playing tricks on you. The lighting in the back corridors is eerie, which is why we are so wisely warned to stay out of them." She gestured toward the door he had just stepped out of.

"Yes, Mlle., that is good advice, but I will see to it personally that you are protected from harm." His eyes were glowing with what looked like love as he said it.

Christine's skin crawled though she wasn't sure why since he seemed harmless enough. And he knew his trade; he had proven that. Perhaps she was over reacting.

"Thank you," she said as she left hastily. He smiled and his eyes danced with merriment as they followed her retreating form. Christine was so sweet he no doubt would mistake her kindness for affection, even if it was a meager amount. No matter, there was time. M. Gauthier seemed not to know that, unlike Carlotta, Christine was kind to everyone. It didn't occur to Christine until much later that the information given was more than what he should have known.

OOO

Mme. Giry jumped as the form of Erik suddenly darkened the rectangle of her door, his broad shoulders and height cast the room in shadow as he crossed the threshold, the fabric of his heavy cloak rustling. She caught the gold-trimmed costume that almost made it to the ground and said "Oh so sorry, you frightened me!"

She had been standing and holding up some costumes that needed some final touches. "You walk so quietly if it weren't for your cloak I'd never hear you at all. But I'm so glad to see you again! It's wonderful to have you back. This opera house is empty without you. I trust your heart is better?" she asked her eyebrows arching in question.

"Yes, much better. I have something important to tell you and I think you'd better sit before I speak." She cast a wary glance in his direction.

"All right." She sank down at her desk, which was spread with an array of colorful fabric swaths and glittering baubles.

Erik continued standing as he held sheet music shaped into a long roll in both his hands. He took a breath while she waited and exhaled as the words rapidly tumbled out, "Christine and I are to be married."

She blanched and clasped her hand to her throat, where it stayed frozen, her eyes large. He stepped toward her, his cloak swaying and reassured "No, not right away."

He tapped the end of the rolled sheet music on her desk, while he watched her. She dropped her hand into her lap and held his gaze before she replied firmly, "This is such a sudden turn of events. I am surprised, though that's not what worries me."

She sat in silence gazing at the floor a moment before she glanced into his eyes again and blurted out "I worry terribly about your safety. You haven't forgotten you were the object of someone's maniacal vendetta right up until only a few years ago."

"No, I haven't forgotten."

"But, Erik," she said, her voice imbued with emotion, as she reached out, caught his hand and placed her cheek against it momentarily as conflicting feelings darted and collided against one another within her heart, "I'm so happy for you. No one deserves it more."

He left his hand upon her cheek and his eyes dropped to hers and held them unwaveringly, pleading for the truth whatever it was, as he said, "Do you mean that with absolute conviction? No reservations?"

"Yes, absolute conviction." She did love him, there was no doubt, for the love was intense, but it was not as a lover. She would not allow herself to cross that line.

"Christine is very lucky. Does she know that?"

"By all indications. Though I am not so sure I share that sentiment" his lip twisted derisively. The reservations he had suppressed began to swell and loom like distorted shadows blackening his mind.

Suddenly, as she let his hand drop she sat straight in her chair and her face registered an uneasy dread. "I can't stand the thought of losing you two."

"You wouldn't," he reassured again.

"This opera is our life, and neither of us desires to leave it. Anyway, for the time being, we have nowhere to go. This may be a very long engagement," he said ruefully as he began a slow pacing with his hands clasped behind him.

"Does Christine know that?"

"Only obliquely. But much of what this engagement holds will be a mystery to me too." An idea was threading its way into his thoughts. "If I can't find a way to leave here and make a peaceful, comfortable home for her, or if marriage to me will put her in harm's way, I don't intend to marry her. Not until I can guarantee otherwise." His eyes blazed with conviction.

"I trust that this is something she doesn't know?"

"No, she doesn't know."

"Keeping her here to fulfill my self serving longings of the heart would be unconscionable. Eventually she would grow tired of it." His eyes were consumed with a faraway look as he continued softly, "Though I will never grow tired of her, on the contrary, each day I become more enamored."

His mind slid back to her adoring face this morning as she had so sweetly offered herself to him causing his heart to forget one of its beats. Icy fingers of regret touched his thoughts but the fires of duty melted all discontent.

His mind was jolted back to the present when she said "You are in a difficult spot then, though I think you are wrong. She would wait an eternity for you." She refused to romanticize the situation; she respected him far too much for that. "But, I'd hate to see your heart broken. And hers. But nothing worthwhile comes without risk."

He looked at her fondly and said, "Truer words were never spoken." Then absently, almost to himself, "Though how does one gauge when the risk becomes greater than the cause before it since it's not always apparent where the heart is concerned?"

"Trust yourself. You will know. And she will too."

"Yes, that I must never forget: that she will too."

"But what of your safety? What about that?" her eyes fixed relentlessly upon his.

"I am aware that I must proceed carefully. And I've long since decided that I'll not divulge your role in my coming here to live."

"That doesn't worry me. I trust your judgment, and your allegiance. Erik," she stood and clasped his arm, stopping his pacing, "please commit to me that you will use the utmost circumspection in your endeavors as you trod upon an uncertain path for you and Christine. Rely on me when you need to. I care a great deal; more than I even knew."

Thoughts of how much she had taken his presence for granted, as well as the feelings of security he engendered, and how much she relied on his expertise and shrewd judgment had assailed her often during his absence the past week. He was taken aback and gave her a quick hug about the shoulders.

"Yes, I will commit to that. Not only for myself, but for you and for Christine also. You are a dear friend."

His words took the sting out of her fears like a soothing balm. Both suddenly felt the emotional strain and dropped down in the chairs near her desk. He leaned back lazily and his cloak spilled off the chair and flowed beneath his outstretched legs, his fingers interlaced one with the other in front of his chest, his emerald eyes fixed steadfastly ahead. Mme. Giry couldn't help but appreciate the fine figure he cut before her eyes. He, on the other hand, was clueless, which was part of his charm.

She broached the other subject on her mind. "What's that in your hand?"

"An opera. You asked me to try, and so I have. _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"What is the story?"

"It's about a man who secretly takes the place of his cruel master who wore a mask as a result of a terrible battle scar and who was later killed in battle, to fulfill his dreams with the woman he loves. She doesn't know it isn't her husband until the end, but believes instead his heart has been transformed. When he is unmasked at the end when he dies she confesses her love to him."

She looked startled. "Oh that's perfect. But as an aside, Raoul has beseeched me to have the "mystery guest" sing a much longer part. He is astonished by how wonderfully yours and Christine's voices intertwine with such harmony and power. The last performance is in six days, could you and Christine come up with a longer interlude at this short notice?"

"Yes, I believe we could. We'll work on it straightaway."

"Very good. Also, back to what I was saying, I've been thinking, why don't we have it announced that "the mystery guest" will be unveiled next season and have you take that lead in the opera you've written. They'd be none the wiser since you would be wearing a mask. And that would create all sorts of suspense to keep the guests coming back for the next season. In the meantime, hopefully all will have been worked out with your engagement and marriage to Christine."

Hearing the words continued to startle him. "That's a splendid idea, though I think it unwise to give you my full commitment until I have had more time to consider it carefully."

"Yes, agreed, no doubt there would be risks associated with it. We would want to know with assurance how to minimize them."

Christine took the hike up to Mme. Giry's office and burst inside while the two were sitting at the desk deep in conversation. Before understanding suffused Mme. Giry eyes she looked at Christine with eyes that glowed with approval.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Erik, but I think we may have some trouble on our hands. M. Gauthier has discovered the back corridors. I watched as he exited from the hidden entrance in the main hall.

"My God, I forgot to add a concealed lever to the side opening. How foolish of me. Thank you Christine, yes, that is something that must be done right away." He stood from his chair abruptly and his cloak tumbled and swayed about him. "I'll see to that as soon as possible, though it may take some time to get the right equipment."

"All right, Erik, think about what I suggested."

"Yes, out of hand, it sounds marvelous, but I'll think about it in more depth and we'll talk again later."

"Mme. Giry turned happy eyes to Christine. Congratulations my dear." Christine looked confused. "On your engagement."

"Oh! Yes! Thank you." She smiled at Erik, her eyes brimming.

"I'm so happy for you both." She stood and embraced them together, and they returned the gesture before all departed and went their separate ways.

Later that night after rehearsal, Erik found Christine in her room sitting on her bed holding the note in her hand with a perplexed look gracing her features. She turned her face up to his "I found it inside the pillow case against the pillow. But I've never put it there, and surely it would have fallen out this morning. But who would have taken it? Would M. Gauthier?"

"We don't have any evidence of that. I've taken care of the problem with that side entry to the corridors. And right now it doesn't appear that anyone at all took it since it's here in your hands."

"True, but I could have sworn – . Well I'm glad to have found it." She walked over to her boudoir and dropped it in the top drawer.

OOO

The following days were a hum of activity. Erik and Christine barely had time to savor the promises they had made to one another as the last "Patrons Event" was swiftly upon them and their rehearsals were especially taxing. True to Raoul's wishes, Erik appeared on stage for the first time in his longest role yet with Christine without much difficulty since his role as the darkest of the Greek gods whose life involved an interplay with a mortal woman with whom he had fallen in love required that his face was enshrouded in a hooded robe that left his countenance completely to the imagination as only shadows and shadings could be glimpsed.

Singing together was both joyous and wonderful for Erik and Christine since their passion for each other poured over into their performance, and electrified the patrons who watched, strangely leaving them feeling as if they had just fallen in love. No one in the audience suspected the "mystery guest" and the composer "Erik" were one and the same.

Erik and Mme. Giry had discussed the possible outcome and consequences of Erik's performance during the new season and both had decided in its favor. Excitement rippled through the spectators when clapping and shouts of 'bravo!' erupted as it was announced the mystery guest would be unveiled during the next season in the debut of a first run opera _Don Juan Triumphant_ written by "Erik." Erik felt like a butterfly making its first tentative movements out of its protective chrysalis. And like a butterfly making its first tentative movements, he was extraordinarily vulnerable to the destructive elements of the environment.

That evening while Christine sat at the dressing table in her changing room wishing ardently the throngs outside her door would scatter, both Raoul and M. Gauthier jostled each other's elbows at her door. Raoul waited as M. Gauthier handed her a colorful vase brimming with flowers in bloom. The card attached read "To the most beautiful flower of all."

"Oh thank you, that is sweet."

He smiled at her wistfully and then at Raoul's "ahem" departed, with his brow dark. Raoul rushed in and clasped her hand. "That was stupendous! I look forward to meeting our mystery guest. And Erik's compositions are astonishing. We certainly do have a bounty of talent here." He paused and looked thoughtful. "We have a county ball at our manor every year and I would love for you and the "mystery guest" to perform a few of "Erik's" compositions at the next one. Would you consider it?"

Elation was chased by worry as it crossed her face.

"No need to give me an answer tonight, of course. But it would be wonderful for the de Chagny name!"

"Thank you Raoul, you must speak to Mme. Giry about it."

"I would love to ask you to dinner tonight, but I am meeting with a group of citizens of influence who have become concerned about the lack of safe passage on the roads crossing the country as a result of an organized group of marauders pillaging the countryside. I hope you are not offended."

"No, of course not, the safety of our citizens is of utmost importance. Also, I'd like spend my time leisurely tonight after the frenetic pace of the past few days. But thank you Raoul."

She was relieved as he kissed her hand and departed through the door, clicking it shut behind him. Blessed quiet finally permeated the atmosphere of her room. She turned toward the mirror and smiled as she heard a slight scraping that heralded Erik's entrance.

Erik, no longer in costume, stepped through the silently widening slice between the mirror and the wall. She leapt out of her chair, her dress rustling over the cumbersome hoops, and ran to him as she said, "My love, how beautifully you sang tonight."

He caught her in his arms and gazed into her eyes, "Not nearly as beautifully as you did my love."

"That's because it was for you."

He dropped tender kisses to her lips and said "Come away with me tonight."

"I would like nothing better."

He strode to her armoire and threw the doors wide to select a gown for her to sleep in. He held up the sheer yellow gown with pink embroidered rosebuds and saw that it would cling to her figure and show it off to perfection. He tossed it over his shoulder and guided her toward him as he faced her and undid the hooks on her dress behind while she rested her forehead against his chest. She let it slide to the floor while he planted gentle kisses along her neck and her earlobe, his breath was hot against her skin, and made goosebumps collect. His let his hands caress the contours of her back affectionately and then he stepped back to drop the gown over her head.

"Do you approve of my choice?" he asked.

She watched him from beneath long lashes and nodded shyly.

He turned her gently by the elbow and fastened the hooks at her back and then kissed the nape of her neck as his hands glided slowly and gently over the swells of her torso and the small roundness of her stomach in front. Her body melted into his and she clasped her hands above his to validate the pleasure of his touch. After a few moments, moments she wished would never end, he clasped her hand and led her through the mirror and into his magical world.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Christine!" Gently Erik shook Christine's shoulder. "My love, the morn is upon us." His voice was low against her ear as he bent over the bed where she lay sleeping. The sound of it lifted away the veil of dreams enshrouding her mind in slumber and her eyes slowly fluttered open. His face hovered above hers. She smiled and slipped a still sluggish arm around his neck.

"Good morning, my love," she said, her voice still husky from the effects of sleep.

His long fingers slid across her cheek to push the wayward curls out of her eyes. "Are you not yet ready to awaken?"

"Your kiss shall awaken me." She closed her eyes and waited.

He bent down closer and touched soft, yielding lips to hers. Now both her arms encircled his neck and she held him close. The morning was always a precarious time for him since he was less resistant to her charms, and she took full advantage of it.

"Your kiss, like the sunrise, warms and brightens my day," said Christine as she breathed in deeply.

"The horses await. I have a gentle one for you. The air outside is crisp, but not cold, and the sun promises to shine brightly. Do you still want to go?"

"Yes, and I will be ready to don my riding attire as soon as you touch your lips to mine in a kiss and hold me close."

Her eyes danced as she unfastened the cloak at his throat and watched it slide from his broad shoulders onto the bed while he bent over her; he knew there was no other way to please her, nor did he mind. He slipped off his leather gloves and then cast both the cloak and the gloves to the foot of the bed before lingering above and dropping down to her other side while pulling her soft, warmly blanketed form against his. She melted into his embrace.

The crisp outside air still clung to his clothing and permeated her flimsy gown. "Oh, you are cold!"

She slid the warmth of her thighs between his and pressed soft breasts against his chest while she showered butterfly kisses at the corner of his mouth where his lips came together in a gentle curve.

"Christine, you will make me your prisoner if you don't stop."

"Will I? I want to then, I'm yours."

"Are you my love?" He drew back and studied her with the eyes that glittered like precious stone.

"Yes, a willing prisoner, forever and ever."

"A wise man would not take such a declaration lightly."

He slid his hand slowly up her leg and then rested it against the curve of her hip. Her eyes opened wide and she shivered. "Brrr, your hand is cold too!"

"Your skin feels like warm silk." His voice was smooth like the purr of a cat. His willpower melted like snowflakes on warm cobblestone. She pressed her lips against his neck and breathed in deeply the scent of candles intermingling faintly with leather and the crisp morning air of Paris.

"Mmm, I love how you smell. It is intoxicating." She tickled the warmth of full lips against the skin of his neck and then tasted his skin with her tongue. "You're making me tipsy."

He threw his head back and laughed. "So early in the morning? We can't have that; you know how it would shake the foundations of propriety."

Their laughter helped quell the fires that had flared into existence at the touch his hand to her body and the kiss of her lips against his skin.

She propped herself up on her elbow. "Erik, I love singing with you, but I'm excited not to do it today. I can't wait to go away from here with you, my love! Though, I confess, I'm worried about riding alone."

"I'll not ask you to do anything you don't want to."

"Does that mean you won't make me get out of your bed?"

"Except that," he said flatly.

She sat and then paused to watch him don the heavy cloak that swirled about his ankles and pull on the leather gloves that molded perfectly to elegant hands. Suddenly he met her eyes, staring, and the blade of self-consciousness cut into his awareness. She continued to stare boldly. He walked toward her and said with his eyebrow cocked, "What is it my love?" and then reached long fingers to her cheek in a caress. She brought her hand to his and held it against her cheek.

"It's you."

His eyes sparkled with affection as he stared back, unflinching, into the shining eyes that followed him, riveted. He offered his gloved hand; she slid from the bed and her feet touched the floor.

"You'll be riding as a boy today. Too dangerous otherwise with bands of miscreants roaming the countryside. Mme. Giry pilfered a riding habit from the costume closet. It should be about the right size, and it will be much more comfortable to learn in than a skirt."

He handed soft pants of quality workmanship to her as she nodded, staring at the pants. "Today, is about safety not fashion," he informed her brusquely, though one would not know that to look at him.

"Yes, I don't want to risk having my skirts caught over a horse's head as he navigates blindly," she mused aloud. He chuckled at the image her remark conjured up.

She shed her nightgown within a few feet of his proximity. Her skin glowed with a satiny sheen, her waistline plunged inward, and her breasts were round and firm. His eyes drank in the sight of her. He wasn't sure whether she did it to dazzle or tease and torment. No matter, it did both. She slipped on the riding habit and he helped her with the strange placement of the buttons and lifted her heavy hair aside to straighten the unruly collar around the back of her neck.

Together they sipped hot coffee swirled with a mixture of heavy cream and honey and then left through the dark corridors to exit through a side hideaway. They burst into the cool crisp air of the breaking dawn and Christine saw Erik for the first time in the stark light of day. It did not diminish his beauty though she saw that his skin was beginning to show the first faint webbing of maturity, which lent a distinguished air. The skin was radiant and firm, and sculpted perfectly against the chiseled bone structure, his hair dark, thick and glossy. Only his mask hinted at things in contrast to the rest.

The air around them was charged with an exhilarating sense of excitement and freedom. Erik readied the horses that waited where he had tethered them earlier that morning and then lifted Christine to the back of Philippe.

"You don't carry a whip" she remarked.

"No living thing will ever be whipped by me," he retorted and anger flashed through his eyes. He stretched his hand to the other horse, his face calm again, and said "This is Beauty. She is very gentle, and Philippe tends to behave around her."

He tethered the reins of Beauty to Philippe and swung up behind Christine and then clicked Philippe's reins to start off at a steady canter. Christine felt the warmth of Erik's body pressed against her back and heard the soft stirring of his breath against her ear. Suddenly the sun broke over the horizon and sent its rays blazoning across the whole earth, chasing away the grey and infusing color into all of creation. Shining dewdrops burst into crystal sparkles that clung to twisting vines and the slim branches of bushes and trees. Misty veils rose like ghosts into the sun-warmed air from fallen tree stumps and choked gnarled branches. A sudden sense of adventure gripped them and Christine exclaimed "It's so wonderful to be out here with you! Erik, let's never go back."

"Don't tempt me my love," he said with his voice half serious as he gave her waist a squeeze with the large hand that rested across her abdomen. Beauty trotted contently alongside. Exhilaration surged through her. Though Erik held her tightly against him, she felt completely free.

They continued along the trail, which melted into the low lying drumlins that zigzagged across the countryside and concealed it from unsuspecting eyes. "I didn't even know this trail existed," Christine remarked.

"Most don't since it's a roundabout way of getting to town, once used strictly for military purposes."

"Where are we going?"

"To a large glade situated nicely between the drumlins in the distance," he pointed to the left, "about two hours out."

"Behind the hill to the right about an hour away from the clearing is a shallow cave situated in recessed rock that I once used frequently for shelter. No one ever disturbed me," he said almost absently as his mind traveled to the years past.

"The way the hills and valleys meet seems to stir up the atmosphere and make it vulnerable to storms, so I found myself in need of it on more than one occasion. As a matter of fact, if I remember correctly, I left a large fur folded between rock reliefs in the cave several years ago. It must still be there I would think. The last time I used it was around three years ago, about the time a certain young girl began to grow into a beautiful woman." His mind flew back to the present and he marveled that this same beautiful woman now traveled with him.

"Oh I do hope it happens today! What a grand adventure" she said.

"It's not so grand when it actually happens to you my love. Very cold and wet. Besides, not much chance of it today." He swept his hand to the crystal clear sky. Not even an inkling of white reposed against the brazen blueness of the sky.

"I intend to get you home well ahead of dusk, which is the time of the greatest turmoil since the setting sun seems to agitate the air currents that flow between the hills."

Lost in conversation, the two hours melted away quickly and a large thicket arose before them and then abruptly parted to reveal a spacious area large enough to allow a horse to run free. Erik led Philippe to a dense area, brought him to a halt, and then swung down. He glanced around to assure himself that they would all be secluded if necessary before he tied Philippe to the tree within the copse that surrounded them. Christine slid down into Erik's arms.

After feeding Beauty and Philippe apples and grains he left them to graze on the thin grasses that still remained before turning to the matter of lunch for himself and Christine. He pulled the ground cover from the pack and spread it above a thin tarp and then brought out wine and dried fruit, bread and cheese. Christine assisted him where she could.

"I assure you, my love, the percentage of alcohol is low. There will be none of your mercilessly dismantling my composure as you pit it against the match of your womanly wiles." She glanced at him and her dimple suddenly appeared as laughter escaped from her lips. She delighted in seeing a man of his stature and intellect completely discombobulated from time to time as a result of her teasing, since so often he unwittingly did the same to her.

The food was no generous feast but it tasted like it to Christine, who by now was ravenous, though her excitement curtailed the amount required to satiate her, which was already scant. "Are you sure that's enough?" Erik's face showed concerned but he stood and offered her his hand when she nodded, lifting her lightly to her feet so they could begin.

Erik helped Christine mount her horse and she took the reins. He led her horse beside his into the field and it trotted around in a large circle. Before long he lifted the rope from her horse and set her free. Her fear quickly subsided and turned to confidence and then exhilaration. Christine showed herself to be a quick study, which proved fortunate for them later. The horse bent easily to her will and soon they were riding as one. Christine laughed as the crisp air blew against her skin. Erik delighted in her delight as they both galloped in the sunshine across the open field until, breathing heavily amidst their laughter, they reined the horses to a stop. The novelty of freedom and the outside air both uplifted and intoxicated them and made Erik forget the time.

"Wonderful my love! You are a natural."

He exulted in the accomplishment of his cherished protégé and watched her with eyes that glowed with pride. Suddenly he became aware of the soft peaks of white that had begun to gather above the dense thicket of trees. "Christine, the day is waning, we must prepare to depart." He gestured above. "I see clouds moving this way." He nodded toward the copse, "we'll go water the horses and load them up where we ate earlier.

Once they reached the outlying area of the dense growth of foliage and tortuous branches near where they had eaten earlier Erik could see beyond it by way of the path that widened their purview as it led back the way they had come. Erik's eyes suddenly widened as he exclaimed "I'll be damned if that's not the same rider I saw before on the way to Juste's." He recognized the distinctive markings on the horse.

"What? A rider?" Christine turned her eyes in the direction of his gaze just in time to see a rider that diminished as he flew into the distance away from them. An alarming thought entered Erik's mind as he remembered what had happened before and fear chased across his features. Pure fright gripped him when his eyes fell upon his beloved.

"Christine, this could mean danger, we must leave in haste. Do you want to ride with me or can you ride Beauty alone? That may be quicker for us." His smoldering eyes penetrated hers and she sensed the seriousness in them.

"I can ride alone," she said with conviction.

They dismounted and both speedily packed their provisions after they led the horses to water. He helped her up into the saddle as he silently congratulated himself for making her wear a male riding habit but cursed himself for letting this happen at all and then mounted his own horse. Quickly they rounded the edge of the dense growth of trees and shrubbery in time to be greeted by the sound of thundering hooves pounding the ground; both drew their horses back in alarm. An onslaught of men of single purpose and determination bearing straight ahead and riding hard carried huge packs that weighted their horses. Erik turned in the saddle and waved Christine back with one arm.

"Go back Christine! Go back! We're going to have to wait them out. Let's go back to where we were when we ate, it concealed us well."

Once again they waded into the dense thicket of trees and tethered the horses. The clouds continued to gather and had begun to darken. Erik peered up toward the sky and said ardently, I hope you don't get your wish Christine, because for now we are trapped and the clouds are gathering quickly."

"I'm not scared as long as I am here with you." Erik wished he felt as confident.

He pulled her against his chest and dropped his cheek to her curls while he rubbed her back with one of his hands and held her tightly with the other. She slipped her arms tightly about his waist and laid her head against his chest. They held each other and then he finally said "Let's eat something while we wait; I have a feeling we are going to need it to sustain us later."

They sat on rocks and a jutting tree that had fallen to fill themselves – though the pleasure in it was replaced by a touch of trepidation. When he had enough to eat, Erik rose to his feet and said "I'm going to see what's going on" and then held his finger to his mouth before he walked steadfastly away from her. He picked his way through the dense pines and low bushes and hid behind a large trunk widened by the rings of many years while he watched silently. Marauders. As before, they were in the process of dividing the booty and spoils amongst themselves. Who were these men that though disorderly, were so well organized he wondered? Voices volleyed back and forth in arguments as the men threw their spoils to the ground and pushed each other's shoulders, waved their arms and finally snatched up their desired treasures. Fear for Christine blazing through Erik's heart propelled him to slip back quickly and quietly to assure her safety. He didn't want to alarm her, nor did he want to keep the truth from her so he told her what he had witnessed but kept the trepidation he felt out of his voice. Her eyebrows lifted in alarm and her eyes were round but she remained silent.

When the sun was low in the sky and a light misting of rain had begun, the men finally cleared their camp. The silence compelled Erik to spy once more from the spot he had used before to assure himself that none were left. The grasses were flattened and debris was strewn everywhere but no men remained. Erik zigzagged and jogged through the congested trees and brush back to Christine.

"They're gone. Let's go! Quickly!"

He cupped her chin, "Are you sure you are all right riding alone?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she said confidently.

"Follow me my love." He took the path that led off in the opposite direction.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the shelter that is recessed in rock like a small cave behind the mountain's face I mentioned earlier, I'm afraid we have no choice. It's much closer than the opera house. While woolen cloaks will keep us warm, they won't keep us dry."

They set off into the lightly misting rain and a gentle wind began to blow. The sun seemed to drop right out of the sky. Dusk was upon them and began a slow bloodletting of color from the thinning trees and shrubbery that soon fell behind them and morphed into a trail littered sparsely with grey rocks. The ride would have been an adventure had it not been for the race against time. As they approached their destination, the clouds grew heavy with their watery burden and a crack of thunder heralded a deluge that dumped Christine and Erik with huge whipping gusts of rain.

Christine began to shiver and she thought it felt as if she had been on Beauty for an eternity, though it couldn't have been more than an hour since a ghostly light from the sunset still infused the night sky, but she didn't complain. The rain pelted the skin of her face and made it difficult to see. Erik was only a dim shadowy figure moving on the trail ahead of her. A dark outcropping began to grow from the ground ahead and Erik turned and shouted through the din of pelting rain to Christine "It's not too much farther, only a few more minutes!"

She sighed grateful that the trip would soon come to an end since she shivered from the cold and her muscles ached with fatigue.

He shouted through the pounding rain and rumbling thunder "Are you doing all right?"

She shouted back "Yes, but not for too much longer my legs are very shaky!"

He nodded and pressed ahead. Finally he led her around and behind a tall rock face into an overhang that arched into a shallow impression carved in the rock hidden behind the wall that as he had promised was like a small cave. It was recessed about twenty feet and provided perfect shelter from the wind and rain. The overhang that preceded the mouth of the cave would shelter the horses very well. The rock face misled all but the most careful observers to believe nothing remarkable lay behind it.

Erik swung down, tethered the horses and then lifted his arms to Christine to help her down. She slipped down and collapsed in his arms, her legs shakily giving way beneath her. She was shivering so hard her teeth nearly chattered out of her head. Swiftly, he lifted her and carried her to the mouth of the cave where she slid to the ground and leaned her back against the rock wall. He pulled off his wet cloak so he could move around quickly and freely.

"I'd give you my cloak but it is soaked. Wait here while I get our supplies." She nodded, wordless. He ran with long legs outstretched to the horses and pulled the saddles away to gather up the heavy woolen blankets he always put there in case of an emergency and then grasped the packs each horse carried and ran back to the cave to drop them near Christine, who sat with her arms hugging her knees to her chest. He opened one pack and drew out a candle and lit it with the matches he had packed in the tin to keep them dry. The cave leapt to life with a larger-than-life shadow of Erik elongated on the wall that was surrounded by the candle's glow and jumped from one side of the cave to the other as he turned with the candle held high while he walked inside. She watched as he disappeared into the recesses of the cave turning from side to side to inspect it. Clean, dry and uninhabited.

Christine struggled to her feet and walked up behind him; he turned to her when he heard the sound of chattering teeth that grew louder as she approached. He gathered her in his arms and ardently kissed her wet face and lips.

"You are so beautiful and so cold!"

She clung to him, sodden, and cold to the bone, wanting never to release him.

"I must hurry and build a fire."

Reluctantly he loosened her from him, ignoring the fire in his heart, while her eyes followed his every move. "Erik, can I help?" she said through chattering teeth.

"Yes you may help by ensuring you don't help to the point of collapse!"

He strode quickly to the wall and felt along it with his hand until he recognized the area that broke and jutted at an angle. Suddenly he exclaimed "I don't believe it. It's here!"

"What's here?"

"The fur I told you about." He gave it a swift tug with his free hand and it came out and dropped open in a huge thump. Christine looked down and saw that the floor of the cave was sand cut through with smooth rock. He held the candle up to the fur rug.

"Devoid of any living thing," he stated matter-of-factly.

He spread it on the sand. It was barely large enough to hold two people. Right now it looked as plush, warm and inviting as a billowy feather bed to Christine. He walked further into the cave all the while beseeching providence they would still be there. They were, just as he had left them, years ago when Christine had just begun to grow into a woman: a pile of logs and desiccated tinder for making fires. He began to gather several to take near the mouth of the cave.

"Here my love, take the candle."

She took the candle from him and held it high and then led him toward the mouth of the cave where he planned to build the fire. He dropped the logs and covered them on top with a pile of tinder and pushed clumps against the sides. He lit the tinder and eerie shadows leapt and writhed on the walls of the cave. The wind whipping in and out of the cave whistled shrilly and made Christine shiver and stand closer to Erik. Erik glanced quickly at her and then back to the fire as he stood, hands lazily on hips, and surveyed the burn, willing intensely for the contagion to spread to the logs. His hair hung in wet streams and his face and mask were bejeweled in crystal beads of moisture, his clothes hung wet and cloying against his skin. Suddenly the logs hissed to life and burst into a ball of writhing flames. A huge pang of relief flooded through Erik, and Christine's happiness grew with each flame that licked higher.

Erik sprinted to the mouth of the cave and then brought the packs inside and dropped them next to the fire. He bent to open one and pulled out the spread he had used for the picnic. He glanced at the sodden Christine and the image of a wet kitten jumped into his mind and made him smile. She stood with her hands clasped together as if in supplication and her body was shaking uncontrollably.

"What makes you so merry?" she asked between chatters.

"You look like a soaking wet big-eyed kitten," he said walking toward her. The sculpted muscles beneath the skin and the sway of his broad shoulders captivated her.

"You look like a stallion."

"Don't upset Philippe my love."

Her dimple jumped out with her smile.

"I'm sorry to do this my love but I fear for your well-being. You must get out of these sodden clothes immediately." He held the cloth up to the fire until it was warmed and then turned to her and said as he began to undo her buttons, "Do you object?"

"Not – at – all" she chattered out. His mouth was set in a firm grimace. She tried to help him with the buttons but her fingers were too cold and stiff. The buttons held fiercely but by dint of perseverance he pulled them through. He tugged the jacket and blouse from her wet skin in one direction while she pulled opposite to help him. After the wet fabric had released its hold on her skin in jerky segments he finally dropped the blouse and jacket to the ground in a sodden wet clump. Then he dusted the fire-warmed cloth over her skin until the moisture was gone and her skin gleamed in the flickering radiance of the fire. His hands felt loving, warm and wonderful. Devotion laced with apprehension smothered the ardor that flickered in his heart.

As soon as she was dry he lifted the woolen blanket and smoothed it around her shoulders and then began to peel away the pants. She bent to help him and then stepped out of the pant legs at her feet. He rubbed down her legs quickly so he would not embarrass her and then straightened to pull the woolen blanket tightly together to keep in her body heat all the while staring vibrant trails into the shy eyes brimming with love that watched him from under veiled lashes. He marveled at how lovely she looked despite the frightening and arduous events of the day. Curls made wild by the moisture in the air framed the pale, flawless skin of her face as it glowed in the firelight.

He ached to hold her in his arms and kiss her mouth but was afraid to make her wet again. His gaze rested upon her a moment longer before he gathered the discarded garments and said "Stay here by the fire while I hang your clothes." She snuggled into the blanket and nodded; she was already beginning to feel better. He took the twine that had joined the horses together and strung and tied it across the opening to hang the clothes next to the fire so they would be dry by morning.

He returned and said "You may want to look the other way" and then began pulling off his wet clothes.

"No I don't." She continued to stare boldly, her eyes wide and filled with curiosity.

"Suit yourself my love, but let it be said that I gave you fair warning."

He pulled his shirt over his head and was clad only in black riding pants and boots. The vision of him mesmerized and compelled her to come near. She knelt to the cloth he had thrown next to the fire and clasped it in one hand while she held the blanket shut with the other and then stood and began to rub it over his back and then walked around his shoulders to dry his chest before she slowly turned her face up to his. Their eyes met and locked with lightning intensity, reflecting in them their love for each other and the glow of the fire.

Suddenly he pulled her close against his chest and his arms encircled her tightly while he slid his hands along the contours of her back and against the warmed blanket. His lips were hot as they feverishly parted hers with an insistence that rivaled the events of the day. She could hardly catch her breath as he covered her lips over and over in the soft, insistent warmth of his. The blanket slowly slid down and caught between them at her ribcage. He bent her against his arms and his lips pressed kisses in a gentle path that gathered at her throat and then traveled down to the tender flesh of her breastbone. She felt his arms tremble against her back and she clung with both hands against his head while she wound his damp hair through her fingers. Heated trails of pleasure exploded through her body like streams from a firework and her breathing quickened. Erik felt the pulsing of her heart against his sensitive mouth. He turned his cheek to rest against her skin and steeled himself to stem the flood of passion that threatened to overwhelm him. He listened to the rhythmic pulse of her heart, allowing it to cool his ardor and then lifted her with him as he straightened. She was beginning to shiver again, as much from the ministrations of his gentle hands and exploring mouth as from the cold.

"My love," he began as he again pulled the woolen blanket around her shoulders, "we must lie together tonight, skin to skin, if we are to stay warm in this cold. I fear we have no choice if we want to live. The temperature is dropping precipitously." Though his words were true and he delighted in the thought of it, he wished these were not the circumstances that required it. Christine looked at him shyly, but anticipation flickered within her eyes, which made him wary.

"Christine," his voice was serious, "You must promise you will be my ally for tonight I have not the power to resist you. I give you my word, I will not say no." His voice was gentle but firm as it carried in a low timbre throughout the cave. "Will you give me honor when I have none?" She looked confused and then disappointed and shook her head slightly but did not answer, wondering if it also meant she couldn't kiss his warm mouth or hold him close.

"Christine, please, you must say you will do this for me! Tonight, your beauty and your charms will make me their captor; I am defenseless." His voice held in it an element of desperation.

She dropped her head and stared at the ground before she said, "I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you, that is all I ask. May I?"

He watched her unmoving, his eyes betraying a bare flicker of yearning, and then said "Yes my love" and his eyes glowed with affection and relief. She turned her eyes back to his and the love that burned within them bathed his heart in contentment. Her mind turned back to the time when she was apprehensive about his loving her and now so great for him was her desire that if she hadn't experienced it herself she would disbelieve she had ever felt that way. But she would not go against his wishes; she loved him far too much to dishonor his request.

Erik continued to disrobe and Christine continued to stare. How much she loved him! She watched as his dark silhouette straightened and bent while he pulled off his boots and then peeled off the sodden pants. She saw for the first time how well-muscled and beautifully shaped his legs were.

He grasped the cloth he had used on Christine and finished drying himself off and then wrapped it about his hips. The firelight flickered off his skin. He bent and scooped up the clothes that littered the ground and hung them on the twine next to Christine's clothes. He came back to stand by the fire and did something that shocked her. He removed his mask and dried his face and then replaced it gingerly as if it hurt to do so. Though she could not see his face since the side afflicted faced away, still, he had never done such a thing before; she stood horror-struck and dumbfounded a moment before she regained her composure and said, "You needn't replace it."

"I'll remove it when I come to sleep since it's much darker in the shadows away from the fire. It feels raw tonight. I fear the fury of the elements pelting the mask along with the stinging cold took their toll."

She could see him wince slightly in pain.

"Come my sweet," he extended an arm and long fingers to her, "let me hold you a moment near the flames before we retire to our bed," and then an afterthought, "such as it is."

He led her toward him as she took his hand and then wrapped her in both arms while he breathed in deeply and sighed. His fire-warmed arms caressed her and his lips brushed her hair. They held each other awhile before he finally led her to the bed and covered her with the heavy woolen blanket as she snuggled against the fur.

"I'll grab the other one too." He came to her and covered her with that one also, and then went back to the fire.

"Erik?"

"One moment my love, I want only to warm my skin before I lie next to you so you won't freeze." She watched as his silhouette turned slowly before the fire while he warmed his skin. He rubbed his shoulders and his arms. His limbs were shapely and firm, his torso taut, and his shoulders and chest broad, which contrasted to slim hips. A beautiful masterpiece wrought by the hands of nature she mused to herself.

He came back and dropped his mask and the cloth at his hips beside the fur and knelt down to slide beneath the woolen blankets where she tumbled eagerly into his arms to warm her now cooling skin against the fire-warmed downy smoothness of his. His body came alive with the fullness of hers pressed boldly against every fire-warmed inch of him, though she did not tease beyond any movement of hugging him close, while sliding her palms across the warmth of his back.

She turned her face toward his and saw the barest outline of his face without the mask. It held no horror for her. She reached up to touch him where his mask had been but he grabbed her hand and stopped it along its trajectory. His body went rigid and she felt him cringe.

"May I, my love? After all, we are to marry. Certainly you shouldn't have to sleep in it. Also, it's dark and as you once said to me 'silently the senses abandon their defenses'…"

He loosened his grip but kept his hand around her wrist for assurance and she didn't question it. Gently she traced her fingers across the terrain of his face that typically lay beneath the mask and was surprised to find that though the texture was uneven, it felt just like skin.

She said "It's uneven but it is smooth and soft just like skin, you need not fear. There is nothing in it that is unpleasant to my fingers."

His body seemed to grow less rigid and the outline of his countenance relaxed. She slipped her arm around his neck and nuzzled her nose against him as she said "I love you so."

The shadows rose and fell in a mesmerizing dance on the cave wall with each flicker of the fire. The silhouette of Erik shown like an apparition and for a moment she thought he was as she floated in his arms in the twilight that comes before slumber takes its full claim. True to her word, she did not press beyond the bounds of his request and she fell asleep with her lips grazing his cheek, her arm wrapping his neck and her legs entwined in his. Erik lay awake much longer basking in the pleasure of her affection with his fingers dancing softly in her curls against the silk skin of her back until sheer exhaustion took his will and forced his eyes shut. The air in the cave hovered above freezing but they were warm and toasty as they held each other tight while they slept.

Christine blinked heavily with eyes that scratched like sandpaper, when she opened them the next morning. She sat up, the warm blankets following with her, when she saw that Erik had already left the bed. He was fully dressed, including his mask, and stood near the fire pulling on the last boot, the only thing that was still slightly damp, when he realized she had awakened.

"Good morning my sweet," he said as he advanced toward her and then stood hands on hips staring. Her hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders. He ached to hold her against him as he had the night before and the eyes that returned the gaze betrayed the same sentiment.

"You left me in naked loneliness," she said.

"My will is no match against your beauty and your charms. They disarm me in a moment's notice."

"Yes, my love, but I gave you my word, have you forgotten?"

"No, I have not forgotten. Your honor was above reproach last night, but it is I who worries me."

He dropped his hand to the nape of her neck in a caress and she reveled in the bliss that flowed into her from the warm fingertips.

"You wear your mask?" "Yes, my love, of course, I always do."

"You took it off last night."

"In the dark when you couldn't see!" His eyes flashed and he drew back his hand.

"But I love you the way you are," she said gently.

"Then you love a man who chooses to wear a mask. _That_ is the way I am. You see men who wear patches over their missing eyes do you not? Why should I be any different?"

"You shouldn't be if that is your desire, but it's important to me you know I love you either way."

The anger in his eyes evaporated and he caressed her neck again. "Yes, and I love you for it. But I also love you for accepting that I choose to wear it."

She reached for his hand and held it to her cheek and replied "I do. You look quite dignified in it."

"Do I?"

"Yes, I've grown to love it actually."

"Truly?"

"Yes, my love, truly."

His gaze lingered on her in silence a moment before he changed the topic.

"I'll gather your clothes."

He walked toward the twine where the clothes hung suspended and then tossed each item of clothing over his shoulder.

"We must make haste today. The day is clear now but I fear that yesterday was only a dress rehearsal for what is to come."

He returned with her clothes and asked "Are you all right to travel?"

"I think, though my thighs are so awfully sore!"

"I was afraid that would happen," his eyes at the corners drooped slightly with the pain of hearing it was true. "Christine, you astonish me. You caught on to riding like a duck takes to water. Persevering with nary a complaint!"

She felt suddenly shy, but basked in the warmth of his compliment. "Thank you my love."

"Shall we begin separately and then join together on Philippe if you grow tired?"

"Yes. That's a wonderful idea." She began to dress and he turned away to pack since he was determined that all of his energy should go into the matter at hand – that of going home, rather than resisting the myriad charms and womanly wiles she possessed, which plucked raucously at his heart strings.

Going home was easier and quicker than Erik expected. The day was grey and gloomy, but the clouds pregnant with rain cradled every drop to themselves until the opera house was within sight when a light misting began. Christine wanted to make it alone on the horse all the way but her legs were so shaky she could barely stay in the saddle and so was grateful when Erik took her in his arms on his horse. Drowsiness nearly overtook her while clasped against him, the back of her head lolling against his chest. When they reached the opera house Christine wanted to jump off the horse and kiss the ground but she could barely stand.

Erik dropped her at the secret entrance and took the horses to the stable while Christine walked gingerly back to her room where she flopped down on the bed and dropped immediately into a dark slumber.

Christine's mind struggled toward wakefulness but her chest and arms felt as if they were being pressed heavily against the bed. Hot breath blew against her neck and impudent lips feverishly whispered of ardent love. She tried to turn and respond, thinking at first it was Erik, but she was pinned. The air became heavy and she could not replenish her lungs. A black curtain floated down around her and she felt herself spiraling into a numbing black gloom that sucked away awareness. She heard a surge of fabric as she wrested herself awake and drank in a long draught of air. "Erik?" Silence. "Erik!" Still silence. Had she only dreamed? It must have been a dream; she was so deathly tired.

She went to the mirror and the face that stared back at her was disheveled and smudged with dirt. She pulled her hair aside and looked at her neck to see if there were any traces of evidence that it wasn't a dream. The collar was pushed down inside her blouse and she couldn't recall having done that herself. She wished for Erik. Anger at Erik's delay flashed through her, but she calmed quickly since she knew he wouldn't be late without worthy cause. But where was he? An hour had crept by. Chills slithered down her spine. The mirror slid open and Erik appeared, still disheveled himself.

"Oh my love where have you been? Something strange and terrible happened, but I'm not sure whether it was real or a dream!"

"I was intercepted by Mme. Giry, and I have news. Juste forwarded a missive asking that I contact him. He held up a slim envelope and waved it back and forth. He has reason to believe he has discovered information that will pave the way for us to marry."

"That's wonderful my love!" She rushed to him and he whirled her around in wonder barely allowing himself to believe it could really be true.

Her feet touched the ground and he held her face in his hands. "You look like a little urchin all smudged with dust and soot. Come home with me where you can bathe in luxury." She pressed her lips to his slowly, softly. Once again. And yet again before she said, "I'd like nothing better."

Unseen eyes hidden in shadow watched from behind the glass in horror and words hissed from startled lips, "So she cavorts with a demon and must be saved!" The figure backed away swiftly and ran from the terrible sight to plot what steps must be taken to ensure Christine's deliverance.

Erik slid the glass to one side and they stepped through. All Christine's troubles flew from her head as soon as they started down the path toward Erik's magical world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Christine grasped Erik's outstretched hand and he lifted her effortlessly from the swaying boat to solid ground. After her slippers touched down with a soft click upon the earth she resumed speaking and said "But now I'm beginning to think it was only a dream since when I awoke there was not a soul around."

Fear clutched Erik's heart but he said "It is strange, indeed, though at this juncture it is difficult to know, since the evidence points to it being a dream."

At least that was what he hoped. "But let it be said that the matter requires vigilance and heightened awareness on our part. It would be foolhardy to ignore anything amiss."

His words relieved her worried mind. "So you don't think I am mad?"

"Never my love. I take what you say very seriously. I always want you to feel safe."

When he didn't treat her fears flippantly the dark feelings whirled like a gust of wind from her thoughts, and her spirits rose. Erik pressed her palm between his gloved hands and brought it near his lips and spoke "Are you reassured or is there more you want to say?"

Her eyes touched upon the black gloves and then lifted to the glittering eyes that penetrated hers and she saw disquiet coupled with the vastness of his love smoldering there. The emotion in his eyes arrested her words. How much she loved him! He continued to watch her patiently, taking no heed of the duties that lay before him. She pulled off his gloves and then wrapped his fingers around hers and kissed the peaks of his knuckles and said "Yes, you have reassured me, thank you my love."

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer and then he quickly turned and strode to the bathing pool and disappeared from sight as he bent to light the fires that warmed the water. Christine watched as he stood again to his full height, hands on hips, and stared a moment before he turned again and came back to her.

"Come, my love, to the hearth where I will build us a fire."

Christine exhaled a sigh as she leaned against the bricks and watched Erik bend and straighten and then bend again as he heaved heavy logs into the arch of the fireplace. She looked forward to this routine since watching him moving effortlessly about soothed her soul. He lit and then placed several matches strategically on top of the tinder that surrounded the knotted dark wood. The tinder crackled, the wood hissed and the flames swirled to life. He turned his visage to hers while he knelt with his arms folded across one knee at the hearth and swept his eyes over her as she sat pensively, an appreciative smile touching his lips.

Her curls tumbled wildly about her shoulders and her flawless skin was smudged in dust and grime; it didn't matter, to him she was beautiful. She caught his gaze and asked "Why do you smile?"

"You make even dust and grime a vision of loveliness."

"Oh Erik," she said through laughter like bells as she went to him and draped her body over his back and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, "You are sweet to me."

"No my love, it is you who are sweet to me."

Together they stared into the fire dreamily before he finally said, "Though I fear that our declarations of love will die with us if we don't eat."

She untangled her arms and he touched his fingers to her cheek before he stepped briskly down into the lower cellar that kept perishables cool. He reappeared, his step light, and placed two glasses and a bottle of wine on the hearth along with some cheese, fruit and the bread that still retained a bare faintness of warmth he had pilfered from the kitchen. They ate in contented silence; the events of the last two days had sapped them of their vigor and sharpened their hunger.

Christine drank her last sip of wine and set down her glass exclaiming "My hunger is quelled but my legs cry out in agony." She winced in pain and let her breath out quickly as she drew her knees close to her chest.

"My love?" Erik questioned.

"While my thighs are used to dancing they are not used to hugging a horse."

He set his wineglass aside with a clink and then walked over and dropped down beside her to cradle her in his arms. "I'm sorry you are in pain, my love. A soldier could not have done better."

She glanced into his countenance with round eyes and said, "Well no wonder we lost the war."

His eyes smiles as he caressed her face and said, "No wonder" and then straightened abruptly.

"The warmth of the water should ease your pain." He left her at the hearth and disappeared to kneel at the water and scoop his hand through the warmth of the water and then returned offering her both his hands and said "Come, my love, the water awaits you."

She hobbled along with him and he wrapped her close against his side to ease her pain. The water in the pool shimmered in the dim glow of the sparsely placed candles. Erik dropped his arm from her and knelt at the pool; she saw the outline of him but his features were hidden in darkness. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dusky glow but still the angles leapt crazily. She dangled a toe in the water and sighed "Erik, this is bliss!"

He stood, hands sitting lazily on slim hips and rested his eyes upon her as she began to unbutton her blouse. She returned his gaze and held it, all at once feeling inexplicably shy. She dropped her countenance to the floor, worrying that he had read the barely concealed desire in her eyes. He mistook the broken glance for shyness and said "I'll get you some towels," and then turned on his heel, retreating, as she continued to peel off and discard her clothing. He did not wish to be the source of her discomfort.

The word 'towel' caused the memory of his dusting her skin with gentle hands the evening before to rush into her head and shoot tingles of pleasure darting through her limbs and torso. She stepped into the water and was fully submerged when he returned. Thoughts of the downy softness of his smooth naked skin against hers the evening before made her long for his closeness again.

He approached again clad only in loose breeches with his eyes fixated on the bulging load of towels he held in his arms. Suddenly he halted and his eyes focused on her slim form beneath the glimmering undulation of the water and then leapt up to hers; the desire that smoldered there made him freeze. An unexpected sense of powerlessness washed over him and made him catch his breath. She lifted a dripping hand cradling a small chunk of "lemon verbena" soap and said, "My love?"

Hypnotically he dropped the towels in a tangled heap next to her and nodded like an automaton unable to say 'no'. He dropped down on the bank of the pool and slid his legs into the heavenly warmth of the water. Then he lifted her heavy hair to the side and dropped it in front of her, revealing the gleaming white skin of her back. He lathered his hands and slowly drew them over her shoulders, across her back, and down her arms.

His gentle hands sluicing the water with perfect pressure across her slick back chased away vexatious thoughts and soothed her aching muscles. She sat with her eyes closed and a dreamy look floating upon her countenance. Then, without warning she turned around to face him, her face upturned to his and her hair floating in the water and stretching long all around her, wrapped her palms around his knees, and said with a lilting voice, "Join me, please?"

He wavered and his eyes flicked larger but she had felled him. He stood quickly to discard his breeches before his mind could break through the surface of the reckless haze that enshrouded it, and hurriedly succumbed to her supplications before better judgment prevailed. His heart sided against him insolently in allegiance with her beauty and charms. He stepped into the water and gathered her greedily into his arms while his soft lips sought the full, yielding warmth of hers in long, gentle kisses that lingered.

"Let us sleep like this tonight, as we did on the last," she said between kisses.

"Christine, I am a man of many limitations and that is one. It would not be wise." His lips flicked softly against her cheek as he spoke.

"But we did last night," she retorted. She craved having the smooth, downy, warmth of his skin against hers again.

"Yes, my love – when I thought we were going to die!"

He held her face in his hands when he said it. She started to speak again but the words "I want" were lost in the warmth of the kisses he dropped insistently on her mouth. His kisses bled the strength from her limbs and her body surrendered completely against his. Her breath came in slow moans of ecstasy in response to his hands sliding like silk against the skin of her back and his long fingers stroking the nape of her neck and then curling into her hair while he held her pressed tightly against his chest.

The fires of passion exploded and hot blood pulsed through veins molten with desire. His lips trembled as he kissed winding trails over her wet silken skin without self restraint or rebuff from her as she pleaded and begged for more. Her hands wound into the now wet hair the water straightened and pulled down his back and her plaintive begging fueled the terrible fires that raged within him and threatened to make into ashes the last vestiges of his self respect.

"Christine – " The name on his lips was almost a cry. He wished to succumb to both their desires with uninhibited abandon but knew the regret that would follow in its wake would make staring at his scarred visage pleasant compared to staring into his soul. Somewhere in the choking haze of passion, seeds of awareness blossomed and coaxed his heart into a betrayal that would turn the tides of war. The words "You must think of her! commanded loudly in his head. He didn't know how, but his mind calmly stepped out of the pools of passion onto the banks of reason, and allowed him to lift his lips from her wet skin long enough to press her against him in a steel embrace and whisper with breath hot and trembling against her ear, "I love you so."

He released her abruptly and stepped resolutely from the pool while the water rushed from his body. He plucked the towel from the ground and began to blot the water from his skin. He glanced quickly in her direction, his mind fixed only on his departure, but realized that she was staring at him with her gaze transfixed, her eyes wide, and her lips parted in shock. A withering self-consciousness momentarily unbalanced him. Suddenly her questioning gaze jumped up to his but he had not a clue how to answer her.

Instead he snatched his breeches and yanked them on swiftly. Not wanting to leave her in such a vulnerable state, he walked to her and bent to touch his fingers to her cheek and said "My fair flower, your beauty makes the roses I bring to you cower in shame." She could only stare, wordless, with full lips sensually parted, which plunged his overflowing heart again into the front lines of battle. Quickly he whirled from her and snatched her robe along the way to hang on a peg near the fire.

Timidly she emerged from her bath with one towel swathing her head and one her body. He lifted her robe from the peg and helped her slip into it while in his thoughts he marveled at the clutches her gentle and loving ways had on his mind, body and soul. She turned around to slip her arms around his waist but then stopped short and stepped to the hearth instead to unclasp her hair and pick her fingers through the curls as she dried them.

Erik brows rushed together in a frown. What just happened? Surreptitiously he stole a glance in her direction and could see that she was deep in thought. He worried feverishly that she had found him disgusting. Such a vexatious thought! At the fire her face was cast in darkness and her hair swelled like a halo around her as it dried, making her look like an angel. He thought of her as an angel! An angel of mercy who brought him love. He feared that she found him ugly. No, he was being irrational. Or was he? Fear stabbed his heart. Weren't all men like that? Oh God, the thought struck him, what if he were abnormal there too?

He watched as she continued to comb her hair with her fingers and his heart swelled to bursting, but she would not look at him. Perhaps something else bothered her, after all, he did turn down her request to sleep naked in his arms. How much he wanted to! Especially now in this moment of self doubt! Should he? He wavered. The fact he had to ask was its own answer. No! He hoped that was it since his worst fears centered around his perceived ugliness to others, especially her. His mind continued its mad foray and went back to the other thought. She had to have known he reasoned. Then again, touch and sight were not necessarily perfectly matched.

"Christine?"

She turned to him and stared coolly into his eyes. There was no doubt now; something was amiss.

"I'm afraid I have hurt you by turning down your request to sleep as we did on the other night, but it is only because I love you so that I have refused."

She jumped up and flounced past him in her lush, ample robe and exclaimed "I don't want to sleep with you in your bed tonight then!"

Panic twisted his features when he remembered what that had meant and he said as he glanced at the lapping water "You are not going to make a mad rush into the water as you did before are you?"

"Of course not! I'm not foolish!" A quick smile touched her lips but then her brow darkened again.

Erik's panic was momentarily replaced by amusement when he remembered until he was recalled to the present painful state of affairs between them now.

"My love, do you mean it? I will honor your request, though it's not what I want."

She turned and met his penetrating green eyes. The word 'no' resounded loudly in her head, while the word 'yes' fell from her lips. She turned away and climbed into his bed, pulling the covers around her. She was already regretting her decision. Raw debilitating fatigue flushed slowly through her body but a state of alert brought by her misdeed enveloped her mind. The scent of him clung faintly to the sheets and she breathed it in to find comfort. That wasn't the real reason she didn't want to sleep with him, but she wanted him to think it was. How could she tell him the truth! She turned from one side and then to the other, and then back again and wished she had not put herself in this tortured position; his bed was cold and lonely without him in it. She wanted him here! No she didn't. Yes – No – The last noise she heard was Erik stirring the fire before blessed darkness whirled through her mind and blanketed it in sleep.

Erik stared broodingly into the fire. What in God's name just happened? The desire to hold her in his arms was painfully acute. His heart pulsed with an overflow of love at every beat. He wanted to go to her, but no, he had no choice but to honor her request. He would never force himself on her in any way. He wended his way to his organ and tried to find relief in composition. It ameliorated the pain but only to the slimmest degree. Before he knew it his head had fallen onto his arm, quill still in hand, and he fell into a heavy slumber.

"Erik!"

Christine was calling him from somewhere deep in a forest of trees blanketed in heavy mist. Suddenly the trees fell away and he lifted his head, fully aware he had fallen asleep at the organ, and listened carefully for Christine. There it was again.

"Erik!"

He leapt up and sprinted to the bed, but saw that she slept. Disappointment flooded through him. He turned to go lie down somewhere else when she suddenly whirled and glanced up at him.

Christine had spiraled into the same dark dream as before. She felt pressed against the bed while dark voices whispered indecipherable words into her ears. She couldn't move and as if drunken called out "Erik!"

Fear gripped her and she tried again but began sinking into cloying darkness. Suddenly her mind leapt from sleep and she turned to see a dark shadow looming eerily above her. She sucked in her breath and let out a little cry. The shadow bent to her and said "My love, it's only me. You called my name but when I came over I discovered you were calling to me while you slept. I feared I would scare you if I woke you."

Her arms leapt around his neck and she would not release him. He tried to stand but she hung onto his neck tightly, dangling by her arms. Finally he said,

"May I enter the sanctuary?" He could barely force out the words she held him so tightly.

"Erik, please, yes!"

She released him and he slipped into the warmth beside her to discover she had donned one of his shirts.

"You wear my shirt?"

"Yes. It smells of you."

In the dim light he smiled.

"But you could have had the real thing my love."

"Sometimes I behave so foolishly."

He pushed wayward strands of hair out of her face and said "It's all part of being human my love. One must only worry if foolishness becomes the dominant feature. You are very well balanced. It's one of the things I love about you."

She entwined her legs in the warmth of his and draped her arm around his neck. She winced in pain.

"What is it?"

"My thighs – they still hurt."

He slipped a gentle hand between them and began to massage her thighs with slow, fluid fingers that made her muscles melt in contentment.

"Oh," she said breathlessly, "that is so wonderful Erik."

She dropped kisses on his mouth. In between kisses he whispered "I'm worried you are not going to be able to take the journey to Juste's with me. The muscles of your thighs – "

"Juste's?"

"Yes, if you remember he thinks he has found a way for us to marry and wants me to contact him?"

"Oh." she said flatly. "Erik, we're not in a hurry are we?" Her voice lifted in panic.

Erik's brow darkened in question and he drew back to study the expression blanketing her features. Something was amiss again. He contemplated her meaning in the dim light.

"Christine, I love you with all my heart and exult in making you my wife, but I will not ask it of you before you are ready."

"I'm not ready!" she blurted out and looked away.

He drew her chin back to his gaze. "My love, I know you too well. It's not marriage you are worried about is it?"

Her cheeks burned crimson and he suddenly felt very self-conscious as he remembered her staring at him with fear in her eyes while she watched him dry himself off. Her voice quavered

"There is something about you I didn't know. I mean, I've never actually seen with my eyes until tonight."

"I think I know what it is," he volunteered warily.

"What?" She dropped her eyes shyly and then turned them up to his again under long lashes.

"You are afraid I will hurt you?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed with relief evident in her voice. "I mean, not on purpose, I know you would never do that, but – but, it was, I mean, it was so much bigger than, than – she looked away and then resumed softly, "yes, that was my fear." Her cheeks felt hot.

Very matter of factly he replied as he fell back on the bed with his arms crossing above his head, "I'm not sure how to answer you; the question has vexed me as well."

He leaned up again on his elbow, caressed her cheek with fingers that tickled and then slid his fingers into her curls that beckoned him before he said firmly, "But let me allay your fears. I will never ask anything of you that you are not ready or willing to give freely and without fear. Ever, Christine."

She hugged him close and touched her lips to the shallow at the base of his neck that she loved so much and he reveled in her affection, so relieved he hadn't lost her precious love.

"Erik?"

Her voice was muffled against his neck. "Yes?"

"You are beautiful; it's just not what I expected. It's just that I – I didn't know."

She kissed his neck gently, and then more firmly, and tasted his skin. "But I just don't want you to think it's that I didn't find beauty, I did."

She continued to plant soft kisses on his smooth skin. His eyes showed shock, and perhaps a bit of embarrassment.

"And further," she continued, I trust that we will find all will be well between us."

"Your faith is sweet, my love."

The overwhelming degree of relief washed away the embarrassment and made him want to shed tears of joy. He sighed contentedly and pulled her against him with his lips grazing her forehead. Together they slipped into a deeply unconscious but blissfully restful slumber.

OOO

The next morning M. Gauthier sneaked a peek into the doorway of Christine's room to see if she had returned. She had returned all right. With the demon. He knew demons existed because they often tried to take possession of him. He hated them! Voices whispered in his head and told him what to do. They stole his mind and numbed his emotions making his body do bad things independently of him, so he was in a constant state of bargaining with God and making atonement. If only other men would understand his true mission, rather than calling him insane. But he knew. He was here for a purpose, and that purpose was to rid the world of demons and give God his glory. But God was a harsh taskmaster, he tested him daily with the voices. And now he had bequeathed upon him the protection of a beautiful flower, Christine. He knew it was true because the messages came through only to him every time she sang. And he loved her, as he had never loved any woman. It was his God-given duty; she must be protected!

Now that he was convinced he had seen the demon shadowing her he was certain the messages that came to him were the truth. Sometimes deciphering the messages was difficult, but not this time. In exchange for his protection, she would be his. It all made sense now. He ran swiftly from her room, sweat drenching his brow, and out into the back stables where he gathered dead flowers and dried stems and twigs. He waited until after Christine and the demon had left and slipped into her room. He spread the flowers and twigs in a pattern of exorcism to ensure her safety. The exorcism-spell was a strong one. One could never have too many tools at one's disposal when it came to fighting evil. He exhaled a loud sigh of relief as he left. The deed was done.

OOO

Mme. Giry sat in her office at her desk staring at the invitation in front of her. Apparently Erik had slipped in early this morning before she had arrived and left it. She couldn't believe it! He had invited her to his home on the morrow down in the cellars to sup with him and Christine. He had never done such a thing before. Suddenly he appeared like an apparition in her doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and a lazy smile crept across his lips.

"Well?" What do you think? he queried.

"I think it sounds wonderful; I'm honored."

"The honor is all mine," he replied.

He entered, and slid down in the chair in front of her, crossed his legs at the ankles and plucked a bauble from her desk that he appeared to examine in great detail. His appearance was immaculate. He said almost absently, "I must find Christine a ring of exquisite beauty, otherwise it will pale in comparison to her loveliness and look drab on her finger."

"There is a renowned jewelry store in the province of your friend Juste known for the quality and beauty of their rings. It is a family business, owned by the husband and wife jointly, and perhaps now, a son. She held up her hand and displayed a ring on her finger of exquisite workmanship

"My own dear husband saved for two years to buy this for me. I treasure it still."

He held her finger and examined it closely.

"It is indeed beautiful."

She continued, "He is the designer and she tends the store. But I must warn you, she is quite shrewish while he rarely speaks, though his workmanship is astonishing. He leaves the workings of the store and the clientele to her since she becomes irate if he fails to follow her exacting protocol. I think he fears her wrath."

"Ah, poor wretch, deprived of that thing which brings to men the most sublime ecstasy."

She raised her brows and gave him her undo attention, "And what would that be?"

"The sensitive ministrations of a kind-hearted and loving woman."

"Erik, sometimes your perspicacity astounds me." The riveted glance changed to a smile and she continued.

"But, he's oddly not social so they seem a perfect match."

She changed the subject. "Your invitation mentioned that you and Christine want to sing some of the arias from your new opera _Don Juan Triumphant_._"_

"Yes, we are planning a trip to Juste's and I thought that your listening to the music before we left would give you a jump on the arrangements and choreography for the chorus girls so that not as much time would be lost in our absence."

"When do you leave and how long will you be gone?" she asked.

"I hope to leave in the next day or so and plan to return the following week. It's a long day's journey; I will probably need to break it up for Christine.

"Do you want a carriage?"

"No, the path is too dangerous for that right now. I can't risk it. The horse's trails are much safer."

"Yes, I want you both to be safe!"

"As do I," he said. "But take heart, I always exercise extreme caution where Christine is concerned."

"I don't ever worry about her safety when she is with you," she stated.

"That is a compliment coming from her surrogate mother. Yes, I am always aware of her safety."

She had been writing in her ledgers and stopped to lean back in her chair and watch him intently as she said "I am eagerly looking forward to hearing you and Christine sing the arias from your _Don Juan Triumphant_. Your music has a way of soothing the soul."

"Do you think so?" he looked doubtful.

"Erik, yes!" her eyes showed distress but she continued. "Your talent never ceases to amaze me, Erik. You are, without doubt, a musical genius. Bringing you here was the wisest choice I ever made. I have never regretted it, not for a moment. And I think it's time the world exults in the glory of your music as well."

Satisfied with her words, she went back to her ledgers.

"Yes, and I intend to see that that is always the case" he interjected, His eyes darkly serious.

Suddenly both turned as there was a rasping at the door. She stepped around the desk and pulled the door ajar to peek outside in time to glimpse a cloak enshrouded figure retreating swiftly down the stairs.

"That figure moved like M. Gauthier," she said, and glanced toward Erik.

"He appears to be quite the busybody. He gets around on feet of stealth," he replied.

"Do you think he heard us talking"? she asked.

"No. Not with these heavy doors designed for rehearsing arias. He would hear only murmurs."

"Too bad he is such a fine stagehand. He knows his craft, otherwise I should like to be rid of him today. He sends chills up my spine."

"Why? Has he done something specific?"

"It's just the way he looks at," she hesitated because she didn't want to worry him unnecessarily, "Christine."

"Oh! Is that so? You hadn't told me that."

"Yes, I thought I was overreacting, but now I think perhaps not."

"Then he bears watching," Erik stated menacingly as he prepared to leave.

"I will come for you tomorrow at 7:00 if you are in agreement." He halted, waiting for her reply.

"Yes. Thank you for the invitation Erik. I consider it a privilege."

They embraced at the door and he left, stepping immediately into the disguised wall that led to the dark halls, but not before M. Gauthier stepped from the shadows to see Erik's cloak vanishing into the wall. M. Gauthier clutched his chest to still his pounding heart and leapt down the winding stairs three at a time as he glanced fearfully over his shoulder. He was sure now that he had been right all along. A ghost roamed the halls of the Opera.

Christine laughed gaily and embraced Meg when they said their goodbyes, and then walked swiftly down the corridor, through the door and into her room as she hummed one of Erik's songs. Suddenly she stopped short and stared at the floor. In the middle of it was a circular design made of dried flowers, stems and slim twigs that was in the same design as the amulets she had seen people wearing as jewelry to ward off evil. Christine couldn't be certain but thought it resembled those from the _Dark Stories of the North _her father used to tell. But who would be trying to ward off evil she wondered? She recalled M. Gauthier's assurances of her protection and she shivered. A noise at the mirror made her jump. She turned in time to see Erik quietly slipping through. He glanced down at the floor and stopped short also.

"What the devil is that?"

"I don't know. It reminds me of the spells to ward off evil my father used to describe in the _Dark Stories of the North_.

"The only evil I see is the evil that brought it, anonymously and unbidden," he stated matter-of-factly.

A slow creepiness overwhelmed Christine. "I'm so scared!" she exclaimed. "When can we go to Juste's? Please let's go soon Erik! I want out of here!"

"There, there, my love." He took her into his arms and stroked her hair. "I will take you away from here as soon as we are able."

She turned her face up to his. "When?"

"The morning following Mme. Giry's company?

She pulled away and looked up into the expressive green eyes studying her and a measure of calm settled over her.

"Yes! Please."

OOO

Christine waited in the cellars putting the final touches on dinner while Erik left to fetch Mme. Giry. An hour later brought their return. Mme. Giry stepped off the boat while sweeping her head around at the wonder before her.

"You've made a handsome place for yourself she said. It's beautiful Erik," though her heart was stabbed with pain at the thought that he was forced to live here at all. It sickened her. He deserved so much more, she thought.

"It's become much better of late," he said. The implication was not lost on her and she smiled but silently cursed herself for letting fear get the better of her in their early years.

He stretched out his hand to escort Mme. Giry. "Come to the hearth to enjoy some wine. We eat at the hearth since the center of bricks in front is the closest thing to a dining table I have. Never really found much satisfaction in sitting down to a table alone," he added and Mme. Giry cringed.

Christine pulled a sizzling roast pheasant richly plied with carrots, peas and potatoes from the fire and set it on bricks in front of the hearth. Erik poured dark red wine and offered bread and melting brie and a plate of sweet grapes as an appetizer. The hearth was fashioned in a subtle semi-circle which made friendly banter with friends a natural outcome. Once again Mme. Giry was hit with the irony of it and wondered at the ignorance that would make the exclusion of such a kind soul acceptable.

Christine and Erik set the dinner before her with an elegant ease reminiscent of their performances together. Deftly Erik sliced the steaming meat and heaped generous portions onto their plates. Mme. Giry tasted the fare and realized it was not her hunger that made the food so pleasant, but the skill behind it.

"This is food fit for a queen" Mme. Giry gushed, smacking her lips. Erik and Christine's eyes met and held as both thought the same thought: would they entertain guests together someday freely and without fear? Erik barely dared hope so, while Christine eagerly dreamed of herself by his side as His loving and devoted wife.

When satisfied, the trio walked laughing and talking over to his organ as if this were a common occurrence. While sometimes in the quiet of night Mme. Giry had heard Erik play, and had even followed the sound to hear it more clearly, she had never heard nor seen the organ up close. When she saw it, a tortured sadness came unexpectedly over her. She dismissed the thought and chose not to examine it now for fear of ruining the cheerfulness in her heart.

She watched as Christine and Erik sang together and once again was mesmerized by their perfect harmony and the passion in their performance. But she didn't know which was more powerful to watch, their operatic rendition or the transparently beautiful intertwining of their lover's comportment. Watching him as he touched finger tips to Christine's chin, lips, or neck, or softly in the middle of her chest just above her breasts was hypnotic and lifted her spirit.

It struck her as astonishing that these two people who had once been so dependent upon her, now loved each other. Erik's composition was liltingly beautiful and uplifting, with an ethereal quality. The music combining with their passion for each other brought tears to her eyes. She suddenly felt it a privilege to know them, and thanked God she had not turned them away in their time of desperate need.

Christine's voice sounded like Christmas bells and Erik's lulled like a fine wine. Erik dropped his hands into his lap and the music faded away. He turned expectantly toward Mme. Giry who lavished him with praise.

"Your voices, the melody and the music intertwine with such beauty! It's astonishing Erik! It has a heavenly quality about it. A song fit for angels." She stuttered "It's, it's so, it's so, beautiful." She regained her composure.

"I can't say enough how beautiful it is."

Erik was stunned, hardly knowing what to say. He said nothing but Christine bent to kiss the sensitive corner of his mouth while she looked with wonder into his startled eyes. "It's wonderful my love."

"I – ahhh – thank you!" he replied modestly.

"I already have an idea of what I want to do with the chorus" Mme. Giry exclaimed. "I can't wait to get started. I know this one will always be close to my heart. And you Christine, your voice grows stronger and even more beautiful every day!"

Christine hugged Mme. Giry, "Thank you! You know I have a great teacher."

She glanced toward Erik with eyes that glowed. She wished to slip into his lap and hug him tight and kiss his sensitive mouth again and again but withstood the temptation for fear of embarrassing Mme. Giry.

Erik suddenly felt ill at ease at the two pairs of eyes that blazed at him with adoration, each in her own way, and at once pulled on the chain of his pocket watch to glance at the time.

"The eve has flown; I must get you back to civility, if you will." Erik left with Mme. Giry.

Christine cleaned up and then readied herself for bed since she had already packed everything she would need for their departure in the morning. Her legs were still sore but the pain had abated to the point of being tolerable, though she didn't let on to Erik its true intensity since she feared he wouldn't let her go if he knew and she had resolutely decided she would not miss this trip or let him out of her sight.

When Erik returned Christine was sitting at the hearth in a silk nightgown brushing her hair as she waited for him. He leapt from the boat, threw down his heavy cloak and slipped off his soft leather gloves. She rushed to him, slipped her hands tightly around his waist and dropped her head to his chest. The steady beat of his heart in her ear and his arms snugly around her lulled her mind into blissful contentment.

When he lifted her chin and pressed warm lips to hers she closed her eyes dreamily. His lips upon hers felt wonderfully warm, loving, and alive, and were sweet like sugar. She wanted him never to stop and hardly knew when he began to speak.

"Coming home tonight to your waiting arms was wonderful. I look forward to so many more, though I hope the nights will be somewhere far from here." Angst clutched his heart. What unknown awaited? He feared, not for himself, but for her. He pushed the fears aside and allowed his mind and heart to bask in and experience fully the happiness flooding his mind. He had never imagined life could be this wonderful.

"Come my love; I long to hold you against me tonight. Let us retire." He didn't realize she was following him, heavy lidded from the dreamy intoxication he inspiried.

OOO

The break of dawn saw Erik and Christine riding away from the opera house on Philippe and Beauty. Each horse carried its rider and a pack stuffed full of provisions. Erik planned for them to make the trip in a day since he worried about Christine's safety and didn't want her to sleep under the stars unless it was impossible to do otherwise. The day was unseasonably warm, which made the journey pleasant.

At noon Christine and Erik tethered the horses in the copse where Erik had spent the night when he had seen the marauding group of men. The memory of the horseman he had seen on the two occasions before hurtled into his head and he finally examined the vision of it as he had promised himself he would. The thing that was familiar about the rider teased at the borders of his mind. He sighed in frustration, unable to name it. Christine turned questioning eyes to him as she unloaded the pack that included their lunch.

"What is it my love?"

"Do you remember the horseman I pointed out when we went riding the other day?"

"Yes, I remember your pointing him out, but I did not get a good look at him."

"When I visited Juste last time I saw the same guy on the way down. Something about him is familiar; I was trying to place what it is."

"Oh, that's odd. Do you remember him from the recent past, or from the past of long ago?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps both," he said with a faraway look as his mind tumbled back over the years.

They ate in haste since Christine didn't want her legs to grow cold and stiff as she sat. Nor did she want Erik to know how much they still hurt

Dusk was well into its advanced stages and the first stars had twinkled into existence when Christine and Erik galloped up to Juste's cottage. Christine thought she would die from fatigue, but she had been determined to ride alone the full distance. Erik swung off his horse and then lifted Christine down. Christine's gait was wobbly and her stomach grumbled. Erik was about to tether the horses when Juste threw the door open and exclaimed "Erik my friend! Welcome!"

The inside of the cottage behind Juste as he stood in the doorway glowed a warm yellow. Brigitte walked up to stand behind as she held the baby and smiled warmly.

"Come to the stable with me to care for your horses." Juste turned toward Christine "Who is your fair maiden?"

"This is Christine, the woman who holds my heart," Erik exclaimed.

Christine smiled shyly and dropped her eyes hardly knowing what to say. Brigitte smiled and beckoned for her to come inside. Juste turned and said to Christine "And this is my wife Brigitte."

Brigitte laid a hand on Christine's arm and said, "You must be tired and cold, come warm yourself by the fire while I make some tea."

Two overstuffed chairs flanked a lush fur placed on the floor invitingly in front of the fire. Christine sank down onto the blessed softness of the cushion on one of the chairs and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Animated men's voices came from behind the door and then it burst open as Erik and Juste entered as Juste was saying "So I think what I have discovered will surprise you."

Erik nodded at Juste seriously and then glanced at Christine curled up in the chair and smiled lovingly, thinking she looked like a swan. After he removed his gloves and threw them on the small table next to the door he walked to her with his cloak tumbling about his ankles and touched his fingers to her cheek.

Juste took Erik's cloak from him and hung it on the wrought iron pegs at the door and then followed Brigitte into the kitchen to help her serve their guests. Erik turned to face the fire and stretch his hands toward its blissful warmth. He was happy they had made the journey safely, and he marveled at Christine's horsemanship, but it came at a price.

Christine was so stiff she could barely move. Pain crept slowly up her thighs. She was beginning to fear she would spend the week stuck in the chair. Erik read the distress in her knitted brow and asked "My love, what is wrong?"

"It's my legs again; they are so stiff and sore."

"Christine, you should have told me."

"But I was afraid you wouldn't let me go with you!"

"Of course I would let you go, though I would have taken things a bit slower."

"Oh. Are you angry with me?"

"How could I be angry at such an uncomplaining soldier?"

She smiled and her dimple leapt out as she caught his hand and held it to her cheek. His hand felt warm and masculine. He bent closely to her ear and whispered "Tonight I will help ease the pain."

A warm glow swept over Christine when she remembered the delicious feel of his gentle hands soothing her aching muscles a few evenings before. She uncurled his fingers and stared at his hand marveling at its beauty and wondering at the power of it to soothe. She kissed the palm and breathed in the scent of leather, anticipating what was to come later that night, and then once again pressed her cheek to his fingers.

Juste reappeared carrying a tray laden with cups and a pot of tea with Brigitte in tow carrying warm, fragrant rolls. Christine's mouth exploded with water and Erik suddenly became aware of the hollow emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Brigitte slipped away to finish dinner in the kitchen. Juste leaned against the fireplace with his elbow resting on the mantle holding his tea and gestured with the other hand toward the empty chair for Erik to sit.

"No, you go ahead," Erik said.

"Please. For what I have to say, Erik, I think it best that you be sitting down." Erik eyed Juste warily as he sank down slowly into the chair feeling suddenly grateful for the soft cushion supporting his tired muscles and asked, "How is it that you came to be in possession of this information?"

"I talked to M. Rabaut who is the minister of our congregation. I trust you recall I mentioned him to you?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I told him of your plight."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I had a very close friend whom I deeply respected but who as a result of past difficulties that arose from a facial disfigurement lived sequestered away from society."

"Did you tell him I was a wanted man?"

"Yes, I told him."

"And…?"

Christine's eyes widened and leapt to Erik's in question and then back to Juste's. Juste realized there was information Christine did not have and his eyes questioned Erik's. Erik shook his head almost imperceptibly and Juste held his tongue. Erik turned to Christine and said "You will understand in time."

Christine nodded wondering whether she really even cared to know.

Juste continued, leaving the details alone. "Well, it was at that point M. Rabaut became very alert."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he revealed to me that about three years ago he had called on a woman, whose husband was dying, to sit with her and pray. She was in a neighboring congregation and her minister was on another call so a missive was delivered requesting the services of M. Rabaut. Her husband had gotten an infection that moved like wildfire through his system. He was delirious when M. Rabaut got there and babbling on about a man who wore a mask to cover the mark of satan and who must be slain to make atonement for his sins and the sins of the witch."

"The witch?" Erik questioned and his dark brows rushed together.

Juste continued, "Apparently he kept making feeble efforts to leave his bed so he could continue on with his search. He believed it was his earthly mission to see that this 'devil's child or personage of evil' as he called him was found and slain. He kept repeating, not my son, a son of the devil, not my son."

A vice grip of fear held Christine's heart. Instinctively she knew he spoke of Erik. The pain in her legs paled in comparison to the pain she felt in her heart for Erik. She thanked providence that he had lived safely sequestered away in the opera house all these years. Tears filled her eyes when she thought of the gentle, loving person she knew and loved so dearly being maliciously harmed by another. Juste words cut into her thoughts again.

"Erik, I've never seen your disfigurement, so this would only have meaning to you, but the dying man said the 'devil's child' could be identified by the shape of the mark on his face." Juste paused a moment and then forced the words out, "He said it was in the shape of a cloven hoof."

Erik touched his fingertips to his mask and his face went white while his eyes appeared to see something from long ago. "Y – Y – es that is me."

Erik glanced at Christine and held her gaze with eyes that held the sadness of all the world and then dropped his head in embarrassment and shame. Christine, reading his pain, leapt from her chair and rushed to him and sat on the floor wedged between his knees with her arms draped over them while she turned her eyes up to meet his.

"Erik I love you! I don't give credence to any of that. I am not superstitious. Other than sorrow for the pain it has brought to you, it means nothing to me! I know first hand you are kind and loving."

Erik's eyes filled with tears that overflowed onto his cheeks and he dashed them away angrily with his arms as the old, repugnant memories painfully assailed him. Christine rose to her knees, held his face and showered kisses across the wetness of his cheek, tasting the saltiness of his tears.

"Oh my love, I am sorry you have been through such horror, yet you are so wonderful and kind. I am the luckiest woman alive!"

"And I am the luckiest man!"

Juste waited respectfully until he held their attention again before continuing. Christine sank down onto the floor again with her arms still draping Erik's knees. Erik wove his fingers into her curls and then let them slide slowly through, which somehow gave comfort.

"M. Rabaut said he had dismissed the bizarre babblings as those of a dying man, but when I told him of you he then turned to me and said 'so you say there is such a man?' I replied, Yes, I believe so and I know him well. He then asked if you were a man of God to which I replied he is faithful to no sect but he is a man of conscience. No doubt God in his mercy would think my friend walks uprightly before him whether or not he makes his confession. M. Rabaut replied 'that is between him and God'. He also asked if you had had a change of heart. I replied that I didn't know where your heart was before, but that you were a good man and that the way you live your life now is a testament of that. He replied that he trusted my judgment and would be honored to perform your wedding ceremony if you should so choose it."

Erik and Christine's gaze met that of the other with lightning intensity. The air between them crackled with an intense excitement at the possibility of their becoming husband and wife.

"Erik," Juste began pointedly, "the man who was after you is dead. He died that night. You are a free man." Christine rose to her knees again and embraced Erik with her face against his neck as she sobbed hot tears against his skin. They were tears of joy.

Brigitte broke the mood when she leaned through the doorway of the kitchen and called "Dinner is served."

Erik stood and offered his hand to Christine, pulling her lightly to her feet. He walked with her held tightly in the crook of his arm to the kitchen hardly daring to believe what he had heard was true. Maybe making this beautiful, devoted woman his wife wasn't a fantasy after all.

After a dinner of beef tenderloin, mashed potatoes dripping in butter and fresh, crisp vegetables the party retired to the living room to finish with coffee and a chocolate torte. Christine and Erik praised Brigitte for her expert cooking skills. The meal was the perfect ending to an emotionally taxing and not so perfect day.

Suddenly Erik asked, "Juste, did you catch the man's name?"

"No, unfortunately, I didn't even think to ask."

"Is there a way to find out?"

"I'm sure of it. We can check with the minister tomorrow if you like."

"Yes, I would like to know."

"Very well then."

The conversation grew less serious as the couples energy waned along with the dying flames. Soon Juste stood and stretched and then offered his hand to Brigitte while saying to Erik "You are welcome to stay by the fire as long as you please. The guest room awaits when you are ready."

"We're ready," Erik said wearily.

Erik stood, lifted Christine to her feet, and then wrapped her shoulders in his arms for a few more moments, pressing her back against him as they paused in front of the fire to bask in the glow. After a few minutes he led her to the guest room.

Erik lit the gas light and the room sprang to life. The glow given by the lantern was much brighter than the candlelight in the cellars. He pulled a candle from his pack but found he had not packed the matches together with it. Christine sat at a small dressing table in a light night gown brushing her hair while Erik loosened his cravat and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. She watched though she could see by his face he was slightly self-conscious but he continued disrobing. He pulled the ruffled shirt over his head and threw the shirt on the bed and then dropped to the floor to search, shirtless, through the pack for his breeches. She stopped brushing her hair and watched the play of his arm and chest muscles under the luster of his skin.

He pulled a long swath of black fabric that turned into breeches out of the pack and threw them on the bed. Straightening to his full height, while his green eyes danced as they watched her he said, "Now for this you have to face the other direction, I'm not about to be turned away from my bed tonight."

She laughed and her dimple jumped to life, but she dutifully turned around and waited until she felt warm hands caressing the nape of her neck. She reached across her chest to clasp his hand behind her neck and said "Did you really think I would ever believe you were of the devil?"

"I didn't know. Sometimes my emotions crash to the surface before they can be tempered by the rational thoughts of my logical mind. Especially when it involves some shade of fear."

Her brows darted together and she asked, "What did you fear?"

"Losing that which is dearest to my heart. You."

He turned her around until she faced him, pulled her to her feet to rest her cheek against the downy matting of his chest and said with mock seriousness that danced in the sparkling eyes, "After all, you did believe I was the Angel of Music."

"But you are" she retorted with equally mock seriousness. "You just happen to be a man. Unless, perhaps, you are hiding wings back here."

She leaned her body to one side and then walked around behind him and pretended to search for wings until her eyes settled on what seemed to be a hundred long thin scars stretched across his back. The candlelight had always been too dim for them to be seen. She fell mute as she stared in shock. He turned to glance at her and caught the look of unmitigated horror blanketing her features. Her lip trembled; her knees buckled and she plunged onto the bed dropping her face into her hands. Raw alarm and puzzlement rushed across his features. He bent over to put his face close to hers and say "Please my love, what is it!"

And then almost mockingly, "I'm beginning to think you did find wings."

She said with a tremulous voice that was muffled behind her hands "No, but I should have."

"Why?" He was genuinely perplexed.

"Somebody or some – some monster has left scars on your back from the crack of a whip!" Suddenly she understood why his anger flared in defiance of whipping a horse.

He dropped down to sit close beside her, his low voice resonating against her ear "I'd forgotten about those."

She dropped her hands to reveal a tear-streaked face. He softly caressed and then gently kissed her wet cheek, not knowing what to say. His lips tasted of salt. She shifted to sit behind him and drew soft palms along the contours of his back. He did not stop her but instead closed his eyes and spiraled into the bliss of her hypnotic touch. Warm, full lips planting kisses over the whole area of his back broke into the surface of his awareness.

"Ahhh, Christine, such bliss. My love, join me" he said as he breathed in deeply and then began to draw the covers down.

He nestled her against him and slid his hand between the warmth of her thighs to chase the stiffness from her muscles as he had promised he would, while she slowly caressed fingers like butterfly wings against tracks of what once must have been broken and bleeding. His lips searched for hers and she responded with an ardent warmth that surprised him. She hungered for his breath on her skin and the softness of his mouth against hers. She tasted the sweetness of his lips, his teeth, the warmth of his tongue. She stretched and melted her body into the deliciousness of his, and everything that made him wonderfully male, while her hands slid softly over his skin wishing to wipe away the pain, and the unfairness of it all. Her mind tumbled blissfully into everything that was him. The night waned but not its bliss as slowly they drifted into a heavy slumber that was full of promise for the coming new day.

OOO

When Christine awoke the next morning she realized immediately Erik had left the bed and she was all alone. Her eyes stuck like glue and every muscle cried out in agony as she twisted around to lie on her back and rub the sleep from her eyes. When she drew her knuckles away and her eyelids ceased their resisting and finally slid open, a lush panorama of red velvety roses filled her vision as they hung suspended above her overflowing a vase that was stuffed until it could hold no more. A shiny black silk ribbon wrapped around the vase in the shape of a perfect bow. Quickly she sat and leaned half on one elbow while her other hand reached out to pluck one of the roses from the vase to bring it to her nostrils so she could breathe in its fragrance. Her heart swelled with love for Erik. How much she loved him! While she breathed in the intoxicating scent of the rose she spied a small white envelope sitting clasped between the crowded roses near the crest. Quickly she plucked it from its perch. The envelope read "My fairest love, Christine." She opened the envelope, slid the card from its place and opened it with hands that trembled. It read: "Please honor me on the night of Dec. 31st with your attendance as my guest at the Masquerade Ball in celebration of the New Year and that which is most precious: our secret engagement. All my love, Your dearest Erik."

She looked up in time to see Erik materialize like a ghost in the doorway, immaculately attired and ready for the day. He watched her silently, his light green eyes penetrating.

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!" she replied ardently as she threw the covers away and then leapt from the bed and threw her arms around his waist so tightly he could barely take his breath.

His arms wrapped her tightly in return and his lips brushed against her wayward curls. She rose on her tiptoes and softly touched her lips to the corner of his mouth as she pressed her body against his. His shirt was scratchy and his body firm and warm. She loved the feel of his body against hers, his arms around her, the taste of his lips, his scent – they flooded her senses blissfully.

"I am so happy."

At last Christine felt more secure against Raoul's encroaching advancements.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Christine wove a black ribbon she had retrieved from one of Erik's roses around the thickly gathered plait that fell from the nape of her neck to her waist and sat pinning a last wayward tendril of hair away from her face when she heard a soft knock on the door.

"Christine."

Erik's voice hovered behind the door as he called her name softly. She tugged the ribbon into a bow and then lifted her skirts, rushed to the door, and flung it open quickly to reveal the penetrating green eyes, chiseled jaw, and imposing presence of her handsome beloved. The delicate, sweet fragrance of freshly cut roses swelled around him and assailed his nostrils as soon as she swept open the door and her beauty commanded all else to disappear from the forefront of his mind when he gazed upon her. The metamorphosis from the day before of boyish imp into the beautiful, feminine woman who stood before him this morning stole his breath away.

A close-fitting silk and taffeta frock with tiny rosebuds scattered about that were broken by thin black stripes that ran through the fabric adorned her figure and matched the ribbon in her hair. Slim corkscrew tendrils of chestnut hair framed her face softly.

Erik placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly slid his hands down the silken skin of her arms while he stared into the limpid brown pools that returned his gaze questioningly. When he reached her hands he grasped then and held her arms wide and said with obvious pleasure, "You, my love, look stunning."

Her dimple jumped out and he heard the tinkle of her laughter. He dropped one of her hands and lifted the other to whirl her around under his arm while his eyes swept over her figure and then he wound her toward him so that she ended in his arms tightly against his chest. Her arms were folded between them and her face upturned to his. His eyes glittered playfully. She drew her palms over the slippery fabric of his waistcoat and encircled her arms about his neck, all the while staring at his sensuous mouth. The night before they had dropped into a sleep so deep and so fatiguing, each hardly knew the other was there and today they sorely missed the pleasure of the sometimes slow and gentle and other times feverish kissing, touching, and cradling that happened as a prelude to their slumber. It was a drug that both energized and soothed.

Especially for Christine, she felt empty and hollow without Erik's narcotic-like touch. He was not always aware of the tantalizing effect he had on her, which made its absence that much more alluring. But ensconced beguilingly in his arms and pressed hard against his body roused Christine's senses sharply. His inviting scent flooded her nostrils and his beauty captivated. His mask had long since vanished from her awareness and to her he had become nothing other than simply beautiful. She reflexively drew in her breath deeply and her head fell back while her eyes closed dreamily. He dropped a slow, heated kiss on her full, receptive lips and then suddenly drew away with his brow lifted and watched her warily.

"Christine, I sense that something is up." Remarkably, he did not know what. "My love?" he questioned.

She didn't answer. He pulled her against him to support her body fully and whispered beneath his breath "I'm not going to let you wear a corset anymore. At least not a tight one."

Swiftly her mind reconnected with its surroundings and she opened her eyes. "You've forgotten, my love, how very dangerous it is for me to dance in your arms," she said but she thought you've forgotten how easily you intoxicate me.

"No, I haven't forgotten," he continued, "Do you want to reconsider your 'yes'?"

"I'd rather die!"

"Well, that is serious!"

"But, I hope you don't mind dancing with a rag doll."

She looked askance at him and her mouth curled mischievously. He threw back his head and laughed; it startled her. She still wasn't used to hearing raucous laughter from him. She turned serious as she said "Erik, do you realize this isn't going to be my debut; it's going to be yours!"

A dark pall flashed through his mind and dampened his spirits and then left as quickly as it had come. "One could see it in that light, I suppose."

He lifted her chin and said "And it's all because of your precious, steadfast, devotion." Then his voice dropped to a whisper "Oh…my Christine."

Suddenly Juste peeked around the inside of the front door and Erik turned toward him as he called "Erik! The carriage is almost ready."

Erik turned back to Christine and said "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Is it far?"

"Not terribly, about an hour's ride." He left her side and went to her temporary wardrobe to collect her cloak. He came back with it and dropped it over her shoulders, smoothing its folds slowly with gentle hands. Suddenly she shivered.

"You are cold?"

"No. I'm afraid. Do you really have to find out the name of the man who wanted you dead?" He turned a serious countenance to hers.

"Yes, I want to know in what way he is tied to my past. If I can place him I may be able to asses whether there is any remaining danger. Especially to you."

"Why me?"

"Guilt by association." He clasped her hand and began to lead her to the door as Juste peeked in again and said "We're all set." He stopped a moment when he saw the concern that still rested within her eyes and touched her cheek with his finger tips while he said, "Never fear, my love, it is far better to know than to remain in darkness." She clasped his hand, "All right, I will trust you, then."

As they approached the carriage Juste waited at the door and the driver sat with the reins casually draped in his hands. The carriage was owned by the church, but Juste, because of his position as Musical Pastor used it for both personal and business reasons. Erik lifted Christine inside and then climbed in himself. Juste followed and closed the door. The carriage, while not as plush as Raoul's, was cozy and comfortable. The day was gloomy and cold and the fog drifted down from the clouds above, almost to the ground in some patches, obscuring the barren branches of the trees and turning the shrubbery into a blurry haze. The temperature of the air inside the carriage was no different than the air outside. Christine settled into the crook of Erik's arm. Absently he fingered the thick plait that fell in front of her shoulder as he spoke to Juste about the plans that lay ahead.

Christine watched pensively through the window at the vast expanse of grey gloom that trudged past the window monotonously and worried some cruel, evil force would rip her dearly beloved from her heart. She turned to gaze at his pleasing countenance and watched in fascination as an opaque cloud from the cold hovered about his mouth as he spoke to Juste. She reached through the mist and stroked his chin with her fingertips and he stopped speaking to Juste and said "Yes, my love?"

"It's – I mean I'm, I'm just – admiring." Her dimple jumped out and she looked away quickly.

He smiled at her, a question forming momentarily in his eyes, and then resumed his conversation with Juste. She pulled her woolen cloak closer around her, which automatically prompted Erik to wrap both arms around her and pull her close against him, though he continued talking to Juste. Her skirts spilled over and draped his thigh. His secure warmth chased away her fears.

The driver's whistling at the horses and pulling back on the reins to slow them alerted the occupants of the carriage that they had arrived at their destination. Christine leaned toward the window to survey the architecture of the buildings. The minister's house was small but well kept and the church itself, though older was quaint and pleasing to the eye. Though the church had once belonged to the Catholics it now resided in the care of a faction of liberal French Protestants, of which Juste was one. This area of France had once been a stronghold of underground Huguenots for many generations, and now that they had come out to worship freely their membership had swelled to even greater numbers. Juste and M. Rabaut belonged to the most liberal gatherings of parishioners whose group resulted from a schism between those who espoused the principle of liberty of conscience between man and his maker and freedom from forced confession as a show of faith. Though Juste himself fully embraced the tenets of his religion he held even more precious the guarantee that the religious liberties of all men would be protected since his own parents had lost their lives fighting to claim allegiance to their God in a way that spoke to them of truth. Because Juste's parents' had been adherents to humanism before converting to Protestantism, those tenets no doubt had also influenced Juste's open minded beliefs.

The coachman threw open the door of the carriage and Erik was first to alight. He turned to the small doorway and grasped Christine around the waist to lift her from the step to the ground. He walked with her in the crook of his arm up the cobblestone toward the heavy wooden door of the minister's home. Suddenly the huge door was thrown open by a large man with sparkling eyes that were set in a fringe of black lashes and adorned with permanent etchings of crinkles at the corners made from a smile that jumped easily to life. The minister was devoted not only to his congregation, but to mankind itself since he believed a true devotion to God was revealed by a true devotion to his beloved children.

The minister grasped Erik's hand and shook it robustly as he said "So I've finally come face to face with the illustrious Erik! Juste speaks very highly of you. A thinking man eh?"

"Ah, so that is how he refers to me is it? Well, then, that by such a man as himself is highly complimentary."

"You know it is true Erik," Juste retorted. "I respect your views and reasoning immensely." "Thank you, Erik said graciously. You are too generous. I'm far more used to your incisive arguments than your compliments!" The men all chuckled.

Erik turned toward Christine and offered this is my fiancée Mlle. Christine Daae. Christine loved the sound of it and turned shining eyes brimming with devotion toward Erik whose own eyes returned the devotion unabashedly. The affection between them was not lost on the two men who watched. Juste gestured toward the minister and introduced him saying "This is our beloved and devoted minister M. Rabaut."

M. Rabaut led them into the front parlor where a comfortable stove warmed the room. A sofa lined the window while chairs flanked a fireplace that also glowed orange flames and spread a relaxing radiance throughout the room. Bookshelves replete with books of every size and color leaned against every wall. A large desk sat in the middle of the room and several stacks of papers bound into small stand-alone volumes were scattered over the lustrous top. M. Rabaut stood over the desk and gathered a volume in his hands that had already been separated from the group and let it drop open. Erik held his breath as he waited in anticipation.

"You wanted to know the name of the man who sought your life?"

"Yes."

"I have it here in my records as 'Gabriel Bonnaire'."

The harsh words hit his ears with a force that rivaled a physical blow. Shock carelessly twisted Erik's features into an expression that exposed his most vulnerable emotions. His brows rushed together darkly and the corner of his mouth curled downward in derision. He turned swiftly to Christine shaking his head in disbelief and began to pace the floor rapidly with his cloak tumbling behind and his hand dragging through his hair. After a few minutes he said in anguish "What would compel a father to want to kill his own son?"

Christine's mouth dropped open and fear and then anger flashed through her eyes.

"Who was my father that he wanted me dead?" Erik whirled abruptly toward the minister and said, "His widow – you know her?"

"Yes, but only superficially."

"I must speak with her! Is it possible?"

"It could be arranged I think."

Erik resumed his pacing and again dragged his fingers through his hair as his mind worked furiously. He spoke aloud, though to no one in particular, "Was there some relationship to the traveling fair?"

Christine rose from the sofa and laid a hand on his arm as she asked softly "Why a traveling fair?"

He stopped his frenetic pacing and stood staring into her eyes and exhaled his breath pointedly while his mind warred with which string of words seemed most appropriate since none could do the situation justice.

"You remember those marks you saw on my back last night?" he asked bluntly. She backed away a step or two as if somehow removing herself would mitigate the pain she knew was about to come.

"Y – yes. He hesitated and her eyes filled with questions.

"This is very hard to tell you – I wish it were not so, but I was once paraded as a freak in a traveling fair. They derided me as the "Devil's Child." He dropped his head and shook it slightly in humiliation, causing a piece of thick, black hair to cut a dark line across his mask. He was too emotional to speak. Everyone in the room held his breath and waited patiently.

He faced Christine again and said with a barely concealed tremor in his voice "They believed only the harshest and most relentless punishment would cleanse me of my horrible beastliness. Each time they removed my mask I was viciously whipped until I bled and cried out and begged them to stop."

The tremor in his voice grew and revealed a scathing humiliation that alternated with an equal measure of emotional pain that still cut like razors across his heart. "People watched while they did it; I was their entertainment. There. Now you know Christine."

Christine's face twisted into a grimace of sheer horror and nausea welled up into her throat. Quickly she cupped her mouth and ran to the basin and threw up everything in her stomach. Erik's mouth dropped open and he sprinted closely behind her and held her plaited hair and soft tendrils away from her face. The humiliation she felt now, she mused sardonically, could not even begin to rival which he must have felt all those years ago. A servant bustled in to take away the basin and bring her tincture of peppermint and cold water. Christine accepted both gratefully.

A sob caught in her throat and she burst into tears. Her chest began heaving uncontrollably. She could not calm her anguish. Erik stood rooted in place, dumbfounded. Panic for her sanity assailed him, but he resolutely pushed it aside. She dropped her face into her hands and said "I can't stop!" The sobs came in waves. "I – can't – stand – that – you – were in such pain." The tears fell through her fingers and drew long lines down her wrists. She fell against him and slowly encircled her arms around his waist so tightly that he had to breathe in shallow gulps, but he waited patiently for the racking sobs to abate. Obviously, now was not the time to finish the story.

He slipped his fingers into her hair and gently stroked his thumb against her cheek. When the convulsions slowed he began to speak to her with his mouth close to her ear and his voice silken and sweet "Christine, I am all right now; I have you, remember? I once told you I would retrace every step if it meant you would be waiting at the end of the path."

He gently turned her tear-streaked face up to his. When her anguished eyes locked his, he continued in the same soft tones, "I meant it. There is not a thing in this whole, awful, wonderful, world that means more to me than having you in my arms this very moment."

"Erik, I would die without you but I hate that the tortuous path you have trod to come to me was so full of pain."

"And you are sweet for that, my love, but there is no changing it."

"If there were I would!" she said stubbornly.

"I know you would, my fairest love. And knowing that somehow makes it far more tolerable."

She loosed her grip on him and they slowly drew apart. M. Rabaut and Juste waited respectfully for the curtain to fall on the symphony of emotions that they had just witnessed as an interlude between their planning before they spoke again. They felt as if they had been privy to the poignantly desperate love-making of two naked souls. In fact, they had.

Erik took Christine by the hand and led her to the sofa and then stood beside her while he resumed speaking to Juste and M. Rabaut. "Do you think she would see me? Perhaps even today?" He waited for their answer but stared at them intently with penetrating green eyes that revealed his eagerness. M. Rabaut and Juste turned their heads to stare at each other and then looked back as M. Rabaut replied and pointed with his index finger "Perhaps the three of us..."

But Christine grabbed Erik's hand and cried out "I will not let you go without me!" Erik concealed a smile at her protectiveness toward him and shook his head when he turned toward the men "She must come along with me if she so wishes." He paused and waited to hear their opinions.

M. Rabaut said, "The woman seemed to be a devoted parishioner, and somewhat timid. If my powers of judgment don't fail me, I think the situation would be without undo danger. Juste and I could go in first to secure her permission and equanimity, and the two of you could follow once she accepts."

"And if she refuses?" Erik asked.

"Well take it as it comes, but I am fairly confident she won't."

"What makes you say so?"

"I don't think she loved her husband. She was afraid of him."

Erik turned back to Christine, "My love, are you sure you are up for this?" Christine began to understand what Erik had meant when he said the path to their union may be fraught with difficulty. She stood, slipped her arms around his waist, dropped her head to his chest and murmured "Yes, anything for you, my love."

He stroked her hair reassuringly and said to the men "We're set then. Let's go." Erik was anxious to know more about his mysterious past.

"All right," M. Rabaut began, "but we should make haste since it's another hour out by carriage. We can get something to eat there, too. The town bustles with shops and taverns and Christine may not be ready for that now."

Christine shook her head "No, the anticipation has unsettled my stomach."

The sun had come out in earnest while they were inside and had melted the bands of fog into imperceptible mists. The carriage that sat in the sun had warmed discernibly but Christine still sat close to Erik and nestled against him in the crook of his arm. The barren branches and twigs sparkled with dew drops that had coalesced out of the morning's fog. As the carriage clipped along at a steady gait several clusters of dots on the horizon swelled into large, beautiful manors of mammoth proportions and then receded in the distance and once again become clusters of dots as they traveled along their way. One glorious edifice that began to swell from the ground now stood out in particular for its beauty and its size. The well-manicured grounds were lush and inviting, even in winter. The long winding cobblestone drive was designed through the eye of an artist as it weaved in and out of hanging trees and iron gates that curved and twisted gracefully before finally stopping at a sprawling estate the soared to the sky or bowed low in trees and vines. The cluster of well-tended homes that sat off to the side like a small village testified of its long history.

Erik thought wistfully how wonderful it would be to take his bride home to such a place but then squelched the prideful thought since he believed he had already been given a bounty greater than any priceless inheritance when he won Christine's love, still, he wondered about the occupants and whether happiness or misery had been their lot. Once he had settled on a name, he would set out to buy property for himself and Christine since he had amassed a goodly sum of money over the years.

Erik turned his attention back to the manor. A large sign with the family crest and name heralded the beginning of the drive but was overgrown with choking vines that revealed only patches of color on the crest and a few letters of the family name. Only a 'de' and 'C' and 'n' showed. A rush of nausea overwhelmed Erik when the sudden thought of de Chagny entered his thoughts. He hated that he would be preventing Christine from having a life such as this, but felt relieved when he saw that Christine showed no hint of recognition. Perhaps that wasn't the name on the sign beneath all the curling vines after all.

While Juste and M. Rabaut murmured betwixt themselves about the upcoming Sunday service, Erik anticipated what lay ahead, while Christine nestled comfortably in the arm that encircled her. Erik hoped desperately to settle once and for all what had been his mother's name since he thought he knew, but wanted to be certain. It was the name he would give to Christine. He became aware of her warmth in the crook of his arm and gave her a gentle squeeze as he sighed contentedly.

"Christine?"

"Yes my love?"

"Today I hope to find out what name I will give you in marriage with confidence since I now know which of the two names I had remembered was my mother's maiden name. Naturally, I do not want to keep the name of my father."

She sat up with shining eyes that were full of interest.

"What was her name?"

"I believe her name was Emmanuelle Gardinier. If I am correct, you shall be known as Mme.Gardinier."

"Erik, I shall be honored to be known by such a name."

She clasped her hands in elation. "Oh my love, this is so exciting!" After the large estate rose before them and then fell behind and receded in the distance as had all the others, they came to a forested area that parted to reveal a quaint but stylishly tidy village.

The town center was a buzz of merchant shops from which a busy clientele could be seen shuttling in and out and several outlying areas that looked like spokes coming off the center were clusters of homes that huddled in groups and hemmed in the town's retail. Neatly dressed women with their entourage of two or three servants and men of industry roamed the streets in search of fresh meats or fruit, colorful fabrics, jewelry, or some trinket for decoration. The shops included a tailor shop, an apothecary, a glass blower, an emporium of personal and household goods and a jewelry shop, to name a few.

Erik watched in fascination; things had changed a great deal since he had last gone out of the opera house when his attachment to Christine had begun to bloom in earnest three years ago. He thought back to her fifteenth birthday and recalled that it was then that she had begun to take on the nuances of womanhood and he had noticed a change in his feelings toward her but feared horribly approaching her only to be summarily rejected as a result of his repulsive face. It took him nearly three years to finally get the nerve to come for her and invite her to his cellars. How differently things had turned out! He marveled that she loved him so.

Suddenly Erik realized the family owned jewelry shop was the one Mme. Giry had mentioned, "Montagne Jewelry." Except that it was now "Montagne and Son's Jewelry." Christine turned to follow what Erik was staring at so intently and smiled at him shyly. He winked and she snuggled in close against him again. Erik could barely stop himself from clasping Christine's hand and alighting from the steps of the carriage to fly into the jewelry store and slide a ring on her finger, but he did. Other urgent matters demanded his immediate attention. Christine silently whispered the name Mme. Gardinier over and over again in her head.

As the carriage drew closer to their destination, a menacing wariness permeated Erik's thoughts and sharpened his senses tautly. The carriage turned abruptly into a short drive and Juste tapped on the window to let the driver know he should halt and wait several yards away from the door. M. Rabaut opened the door and climbed down and then turned to Erik and said "I'm going to make the introductions and tell your story. I'll return to advise you as soon as I have news."

"Thank you, yes, a good plan."

"And now, Juste, if you'll accompany me?"

"Of course."

Erik and Christine remained in the carriage and watched as a very plain, middle-aged woman answered the door. The woman at the door immediately recognized both Juste and M. Rabaut since M. Rabaut had prayed with her that awful night, and Juste had toured the celebratory festivals with his church musicians during the summer, and Mme. Bonnaire being a lover of church music had followed along for every performance.

Erik saw her glance at the carriage and then back to Juste and M. Rabaut and nod her head. She retreated from the door and M. Rabaut went inside while Juste came back to the carriage and stood at the door as he spoke to them. I was very blunt and told her you had reason to believe you were her deceased husband's son. She has graciously invited us inside. Christine clasped Erik's hand and her eyes met his. He nodded a curt nod as if to say "Let's hope for the best."

Erik lifted Christine from the carriage and the trio walked to the front door where a servant ushered them inside. The servants carried trays laden with cookies and tea from the kitchen and Mme. Bonnaire briskly followed. As soon as the trio entered and Mme. Bonnaire laid eyes on Erik she fell immediately to the floor in a dead faint.

The servants quickly set aside the trays and ran to their mistress and began slapping her hands muttering "This is most unusual."

When Mme. Bonnaire came to she flinched and held her hands in front of her face and began pleading "Child of the Devil No! I have done nothing please do not harm me. It was him! It was him who wanted you dead!"

M. Rabaut and Juste ran to her and exclaimed "This is Erik, he is an ordinary man! He means you no harm."

Erik halted abruptly and stood rooted so as not to alarm her further, but was a little shaken himself. When M. Rabaut asked if she wanted a blessing she nodded vigorously. M. Rabaut fell to one knee and quickly uttered his prayer of protection and then helped Mme. Bonnaire to her feet and led her to the sofa while she kept casting surreptitious glances in Erik's direction.

"The fainting weakness has left me now," she reassured the ministers as she sank warily onto the sofa.

The servants offered Christine and Erik the settee that was placed near the fire and several yards from Mme. Bonnaire. Christine leaned against Erik and watched the woman who had fainted with open mistrust, and suddenly felt very protective toward Erik. Juste introduced "Mme. Bonnaire, this is Erik and his fiancé Mlle. Christine Daae. They are to be married and for that reason they come to you seeking information." Erik reassured "I'm sorry for your trouble Mme.; I mean you no harm." I am a mere mortal who comes to you without malice or otherworldly power. I seek only knowledge of my past."

Mme. Bonnaire became very alert at his words.

"You say you are a man? Can you prove such a thing?"

Erik replied "What would constitute proof?"

She turned to the servant. "Abigail, fetch a knife from the kitchen." When the girl hesitated, Mme. Bonnaire demanded with a voice that shook, "Quickly!"

The servant returned from the kitchen holding a long, pointed knife that gleamed and handed it to her mistress. Christine gave a little cry but Erik sat resolute and calm.

"If you are but a man, you will allow me to draw blood."

Christine leapt from her chair and cried out "No!" but Erik caught her skirts and stopped her in her tracks. Mme. Bonnaire, who was driven by her fright of Erik, ignored Christine. Mme. Bonnaire came to Erik and stood in front of him holding the knife. Erik held out his forearm and she quickly pricked it. A shiny round bead of dark red blood gathered above the knick. Christine stared at it in horror. The knife clattered to the floor and the woman swayed a little and grabbed her heart.

"You are a man! The liar!"

"Who lies?" asked Erik. "My dead husband."

The servant brought a clean strip of cloth and placed it in the extended hand of Christine, who took the cloth and tied the strip around Erik's arm and watched his blood seep into the weave of the fabric.

"Erik? Does it hurt?"

"No, my love. I don't feel a thing. I've had much worse, remember?" Christine kissed the bandage, uncaring that her lips touched his blood, sighed in relief and subtly wiped a tear from her eye, sickened that Erik would have to submit to such a test at all.

Mme. Bonnaire resumed her place on the sofa after her servants helped her back over to it and spoke "I always suspected he lied. I am sorry; the man you call your father was a difficult man. He was very handsome and charming, but he hid a dark heart. The words chilled Christine. Your resemblance to him is slim Monsieur, the hair color and height only perhaps. He never called you a son as he ardently believed you had been fathered by the devil."

Erik was mystified. "Why would he believe such a thing?"

"He believed your mother was a witch."

"You knew of my mother?"

"Yes, Monsieur, a very sad tale." Erik's eyes drooped at the corners in grief so imperceptibly that only Christine caught it. My husband threatened that you would come for me, and carry me off if I did not continue the hunt for you if death claimed him first. So, you can see why I was dreadfully frightened.

"Yes, I can see why," he reassured. A thousand questions tumbled through Erik's mind but he knew he had to restrain himself and speak calmly so he wouldn't alarm Mme. Bonnaire unnecessarily.

"What makes you so certain you are his son?"

"I once carried his name, but my mother changed it to hers when I was very young and we had moved north again. "Your mother was Emmanuelle Gardinier then?"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened. "So it is true. Emma did have a son with a facial disfigurement?"

"Did you know her?"

"No."

Something was not right. Erik pressed further, "Was her surname Gardinier?"

"Yes. Her father was a natural philosopher and a political activist; a very learned man, but lost his mind when his wife died. Emma was only seventeen, and quite alone at the time. The name was well-known in those parts. Yes, there is no doubt that was her name."

So, that _is_ the name," Erik said aloud. He faced Christine and said "Memory served." Christine caressed his face lovingly, a slight smile touching her lips.

Mme. Bonnaire was suddenly very quiet. Erik began again gently "You said my father thought my mother was a witch?"

"Yes, but my dead husband was addled. Emma was well-educated and practical. But he believed she captivated him and all the men around her unnaturally with her beguiling ways. He could not break free of her spell. He always desired her. She also loved dancing and singing and mingled with the townspeople at the summer campfires."

"Yes, I remember that from when I was a child…"

"The men came to see her from miles around. My dead husband was one. He had been after her to marry him for months, and suddenly, one day, out of the blue, she consented. She gave birth to a son nine months after they married, but there was a problem."

"What was that?"

"They did not consummate the marriage on their wedding night."

"Well how long after was it?"

"Only a few weeks, he said she put up quite a fight, but he never believed the child was his and when he asked for a sign from God believed he got it."

"What was the sign?" "The son was born healthy and robust, but when he was about two months old a terrible birth mark began to appear on his face and grew worse over time. It was in the shape of a cloven hoof. He believed whole heartedly that it was a sign the child was the literal son of the devil."

Absently Erik touched his fingertips to his mask and asked, "You say the son was born healthy?"

"Yes. I have a portrait, monsieur, of the child at six weeks. Would you like to see it?"

Erik glanced at Christine and then nodded.

Mme. Bonnaire left the room and came back carrying an exquisite drawing of a beautiful child with a full head of thick black hair and handed it to Erik. Erik took the picture from her. The face was perfect. Erik gave a hoarse cry. The dimpled chin and the shape of the mouth left no doubt that the infant in the picture was Erik. Christine took the picture from Erik with hands that shook and tears streamed down her face. The face in the picture was angelic. She too, knew the face belonged to Erik. She held the picture in her hands staring and wondered what had happened and why. Erik's breathing was deep and uneven in Christine's ear, she turned her face slowly to his. A tear welled up and then slipped down his face beneath his mask, but he said nothing. When she saw it, Christine thought her heart would break.

Suddenly Christine and Erik became aware that Mme. Bonnaire was no longer speaking and they turned toward her. She watched them carefully and finally said, "Monsieur, there is more. I am sorry. Do you want to know the rest of the story?"

"Yes – please, continue."

"It seems, the baby – you – had a strange hold on the mother, according to my dead husband. Your mother was wildly crazy about you and would not let you out of her sight. When the birthmark appeared she became overwrought and extremely protective. Your father was terribly jealous of you and hated that all her love went to you and none to him, but as I said, he was a very difficult man. After your parents married, they had financial difficulties because his businesses failed. He attributed it to you and the curse you brought, though I blame the laudanum. He wanted you dead and told your mother as much so one night you and she simply vanished. As you can imagine he was enraged and scoured the countryside for you and her since he believed all his misfortune was due to 'the curse of the devil's child.'"

"Did he ever find her?"

"Yes. He had a business that traveled over the countryside and one night out at the summer fires where the townspeople gathered for small scale performances and conviviality he recognized her. He did not let her know he had seen her and he followed her home that night. At the time, you and she lived in a small home on the property of a large manor."

"Yes, I remember that. That is correct. What was his business?"

"He owned a traveling fair."

Erik expelled his breath and felt as if the air around him was closing him in blackness. Christine thought he looked like he was going to fall to the floor unconscious and so thrust her arms around his neck to steady him.

"My love? she queried, her voice showing alarm. Are you all right?"

"Oh my God Christine, to think all along that was my own father!"

"My dearest love, it's not your fault that he was a horrible man." This was turning out to be a very emotionally exhausting day.

"What happened after he followed her home?"

"He rendered her unconscious – chloroform – and then kidnapped her and took her home with him since she was still legally his wife, but when she awoke her son was gone. She became hysterical and fought my husband to get away, but he squeezed the breath out of her and she lost consciousness. He often told the story in a drunken haze as if it were a battlefield victory. Anyway, she was mad with grief. I've never seen such love for a son of his mother. For two years she did nothing but sit alone in an old dark shed day and night. Finally he took her to La Bicetre."

"La Bicetre! La Bicetre is an insane asylum!" Erik nearly shouted, his voice full of pain.

"Yes, Monsieur, as I said, she was mad with grief over the loss of the child."

"But the conditions in places such as that are deplorable!" Erik dropped his head, shaking it, and pushed his hand through his hair as he said with a voice full of a sad lethargy "How awful it must have been for her. Oh Christine…" he bent his cheek to her hair and let her give him comfort since the pain was acute.

Erik turned tired eyes back to Mme. Bonnaire and steeled himself for the final question about his mother he hardly dared ask. "Do you know what happened to her? Yes, Monsieur, I'm very sorry, the report said she died there."

He sank down to the sofa and dropped his head in his hands and then said "Oh my poor mother."

Christine's body bent with his and she draped her arm softly across his back. He turned misted green eyes to Christine's, "Christine I must visit La Bicetre to see if any one knows or remembers anything about her and you may join me if you wish."

"Of course I do, my dearest one."

He tickled her cheek affectionately. "I have to know more about her. They must keep records on their clientele. At least one would hope."

"Monsieur?"

"Yes?" Erik looked up again.

"There is something else." She hesitated. "A small envelope; I kept it hidden since I feared the curse but also delighted in betraying my irascible husband. When he found out about her death they gave him a bag with her belongings. He threw it into the storage shed and never looked at it. We married the next day. I'm sure he forgot he had it. He said he was satisfied that she got what she deserved. I was naïve and believed all he said about her but as time went on I realized he had a black heart. I feared if I tried to leave him I would meet the same fate as your mother. When I found her belongings I felt a stab of delight in betraying him, by then all my love for him had long since faded. I kept the bag secret; it was my revenge, but I feared the curse; he was so adamant about it, and I've always had such a fear of the devil. But I am confident now that you are a good man and that he was either mad himself or a disgusting liar. Perhaps a little of both. The envelope is still sealed and it has your name on it. I was afraid to open it or throw it away."

"My name? Are you certain!"

"Yes."

"Then please!"

She went into her bedroom again and returned with the envelope and Erik slowly took it from her as he perused the handwriting and recognized it as his mother's. A pang of anger followed by pain clutched his heart.

"Christine, my love, let us read it together tonight when we are alone. I want you beside me."

"Yes, my love." Her voice was acquiescent and sweet. Erik stood and reached out his hand to Christine as he asked Mme. Bonnaire, "Whatever happened to the traveling fair?"

"It was disbanded after there was a murder." Erik hoped fervently she would say no more about it. He feared Christine could not bear it. "The terrible treatment of the performers in the fair was brought to light so the public eschewed the fair when it came to town and M. Bonnaire lost the small fortune he had amassed from it. That enraged him and put him on a vendetta from which he never recovered."

"What happened to those exploited in the fair?"

"Some went to La Bicetre and others went to live with compassionate families." Erik extended his hand to Mme. Bonnaire and offered "Thank you so much for inviting us in and giving this difficult information so generously. I know it was hard for you."

"I wish I could say it has been my pleasure, but it has not. I am sorry to be the deliverer of such terrible news to a kind man such as yourself. No man who loves a woman as you do can be evil."

Christine nodded and could not restrain herself as she hugged his waist tightly and then rose up on her toes to kiss his dimpled chin. He smiled and caressed her hair softly. Abruptly Erik turned back to Mme. Bonnaire and said, "One final question. Did he work alone?"

She frowned thoughtfully, "I think he did talk of one other person, but when I would question him about it his tone became menacing and it scared me so I stopped. I believe there was another person but I never did find out the relationship. I'm sorry, that's all I remember."

"Nevertheless, you've been extremely helpful. I thank you."

Mme. Bonnaire nodded as the servant showed the entourage to the door.

A few minutes later the carriage drew away from Mme. Bonnaire's home and followed along the cobblestone to the market center. A lively tavern sat in the middle of the shops and Erik and Christine suddenly realized they were famished. Juste and M. Rabaut craved a nice draught of ale. For the first time in his life Erik felt like he could go inside and not hide his head in a hooded cloak, though he still, out of habit, felt uneasy. The foursome went inside to lively conversation and much merriment but no one said a word to Erik. Some stared, and followed him with their eyes as he went by, but nothing was said. Christine was proud to be by his side.

Christine and Erik ordered croissant sandwiches stuffed with tender chicken and drank wine while Juste and M. Rabaut feasted on roast, potatoes, and ale. Juste said compassionately, "Erik, you got quite an earful."

"I did indeed."

"Have you settled on a name then?" "Yes, my mother's maiden name, to honor her." "Wonderful! Let's get the two of you married!" Erik turned to Christine and touched his lips to hers softly and deliberately and said "Yes, let's."

"Christine, my love, there is a jewelry store in the town center a few shops down that Mme. Giry recommended earlier, let's take a peek inside today before we leave."

"Oh Erik! Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it!"

Christine threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek over and over again until several turned in there seats to admire the commotion. A few raised their ales and said here here as one man yelled "A round for the lovers on me!"

Erik laughed and turned his attention back to Christine, "I'd like to get an idea of what you like, but I want the final design to be a surprise!"

"I would love for you to surprise me, Erik. I trust your judgment wholly and completely. And knowing you designed it with me in mind, would mean everything!"

"You are sweet, my love." Juste moved the conversation along anxiously. "Have you any idea for a date." "Tomorrow," Christine said and smiled mischievously at Erik. "At least that's what I wish."

Erik laughed at her and said "We must at least have a ring, my love."

"All right, but I so look forward to becoming your wife!" She sighed deeply and contentedly, holding onto his hand that rested on her thigh, while gazing at his beautiful lash fringed green eyes and the earnestness that resided within them. Erik still at times, couldn't believe his heart's greatest desire was coming true. It just didn't seem possible. But here they sat, talking about a date and a ring.

When they finished, Erik waited for Christine to freshen up in the powder room while M. Rabaut and Juste looked after the horses and discussed their plans with the driver. Erik and Christine walked toward the carriage when suddenly Erik pulled Christine toward him and halted in shock. A man leaned against the building next door and watched them intently. It was M. Gauthier! Erik leaned toward Christine surreptitiously and whispered "What the devil is he doing here?"

They had no choice but to continue walking since he stared straight at them. Christine exclaimed "Good day M. Gauthier!" as they walked by since their route passed within two feet of him. The man showed not a hint of recognition.

"I beg your pardon, I am Jean-Baptiste Daniau. I do not know an 'M. Gauthier'. Both Christine and Erik were shocked since Jean-Baptiste was the spit and image of M. Gauthier, though upon closer inspection, his eyes were devoid of the same wildness that resided in M. Gauthier's. In fact, the coolness in Jean-Baptiste's made the wildness in M. Gauthier's eyes seem that much more pronounced; Christine shivered.

"Forgive me Monsieur, I apologize." Christine replied.

"Yes, Mlle."

Erik was uneasy, nevertheless, and when he reached the carriage he pointed out Jean-Baptiste to Juste, who verified his name. Yes, that is the man. He is a wealthy merchant in the area though his reputation isn't without blemish and his business practices are somewhat of a mystery, but no one has ever been able to prove anything. He keeps a capricious schedule."

"Ah, I see." Erik replied. "It's odd, but he has a look alike. The image is so close that Christine and I both made the same mistake in thinking that it was M. Gauthier."

"Yes, very strange indeed, and here is the irony: rumor has it that Jean-Baptiste had a twin who died in a theater accident many years ago. A fall from the scaffolding. The brothers had had a falling out, so the death sent Jean-Baptiste into a frenzy of guilt from which he never quite recovered. I never saw the report myself, but I'm sure it could be traced if we needed to prove it."

M. Rabaut who had been listening while he stroked the horses and checked their bridles walked toward them and interjected "Gauthier you say? Now that's a well-known and well-respected family name. I think I do remember their being generous patrons of the theater."

"Any possibility the brother didn't actually die?" Erik asked.

"None whatsoever since, assuming the rumor is accurate, there were several witnesses."

Erik continued to feel uneasy but pushed the thought from his mind and turned to more cheerful matters.

"I would like to take Christine to "Montagne and Sons" to look at their wedding rings before we leave. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. We'll meet you out in front with the carriage." Erik offered Christine his arm. Walking along the busy cobblestone streets openly with his bride-to-be was a new and exhilarating experience. Christine loved walking with her arm entwined in Erik's. Both felt today, as if they had been released from some imaginary prison. They entered the jewelry store. Rows of beautiful rings of exquisite workmanship glittered behind the glass. Mme. Montagne greeted them sweetly and then turned and barked out an order to her husband in the workroom behind. Erik suppressed a smile; Mme. Giry had been right.

Christine bent to one ring in particular. "Erik, look how beautiful." Erik bent to see a large blue diamond surrounded by a spray of smaller diamonds and set into white gold. "Do you like that one best?"

"I love it, but I would also love you to add your own unique touch in a way that signified our love."

"Would you my love? Are you sure?" "Yes very sure, it would mean the world to me."

"Then you shall have it."

"Oh Erik, I love you!" She hugged his waist hard.

"I'll draw up a design while we're here, but I will have to come back here without you then," his words were breathy with her hug.

"I suppose I will have to endure it for such a purpose as that!" she exclaimed turning back to the counter.

Erik asked Mme. Montagne "The blue diamonds, do you have more?"

"Yes, in our safe, they are exceedingly rare and precious."

He turned his countenance to Christine as they both bent down "Just like you, my love." She slipped her arms around his waist again so tightly that he feigned an inability to breathe. He turned to the Mme. Montagne and said "I shall return."

She nodded curtly. He led Christine away from the shop. When they left the store, arm in arm, they saw Jean-Baptiste languidly watching them again. Something about it made Erik wary but he did not want to alarm Christine. It could be strictly coincidence he reasoned to himself, but he tucked the observation carefully away in his memory for future reference nonetheless.

Once inside the carriage again, Christine nestled comfortably into the crook of Erik's arm again and slowly descended into a contented sleep, lulled by the mellifluous cadence of Erik's voice as he spoke with Juste and M. Rabaut. When she awoke and lifted her head Erik reflexively released his arms from around her and she noticed he was staring very intently at the same large manor that he had seemed taken with before. But this time the sign that announced the family name and crest coming from this direction was not hidden by choking vines. The sign read "de Changy" and the colorful family crest shown plainly beneath the name. Christine knew what Erik was thinking and said with a sleepy but surprised voice "No, Erik, that is not Raoul's place."

Juste and M Rabaut looked up from their ledgers and Bible to see what held their attention. M. Rabaut said "No, Count de Changy has no living sons."

Juste said "I didn't realize he was without heirs."

"He has only a daughter; her mother died giving birth. I was in attendance at the mother's death. The Count is not religious, but the mother was, so he called me in to preside over her last rites. That was before I left my Catholic roots and turned to Protestantism. Christine looked closely at the sign once more and said "Nor is that how he spells his name. The letters 'n' and 'g' are switched. What a strange coincidence. Though Raoul's place is beautiful, it's not palatial like this one." Erik was satisfied and relieved this place had nothing to do with Raoul, though he felt a twinge of shame over his thoughts.

At dusk the carriage drew up to the rectory and M. Rabaut disembarked and said his goodbyes. "I cheerfully anticipate the day I shall have the great honor of making you husband and wife! Hurry up with that ring, man!"

"That is what I intend to do!" Erik replied as he shook hands with M. Rabaut.

A while later when the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Juste's home, darkness had fully descended and the air was crisp. The moon was a bare sliver of bright white cutting through the inky black night. Erik lifted Christine from the carriage and as soon as her feet hit the earth she glanced above.

"Erik look at the stars! I've never seen them so bright, or so many!"

"Christine! They are beautiful. Come. Let us go to the gazebo for a few moments." Erik led Christine by the hand to a small gazebo on Juste's property where weddings sometimes took place while Juste took the carriage to the stable. Erik wrapped Christine in his embrace and they both turned their faces heavenward. A shower of blue stars glittered like diamonds and lit up the black velvet sky.

"Christine, they burn for eternity; like my love for you."

"Erik! It's the ring! She exclaimed. The stars in the sky shine just like the encrusted diamonds sparkled in the ring we saw today!"

"Indeed they do. Surely the universe gives us its sign."

"Most assuredly, my love," she said and slipped her arms around his neck and began to kiss his mouth with gentle butterfly kisses. He bent her in his arms and let the cloak fall from her shoulders. The cold air swirled and nipped her delicate skin and made the kisses he dropped over the swells peeking out from her bodice seem as if they burned her cool skin. She allowed her body to fall limp in his arms, fully trusting him to hold her and wound her fingers through his hair. The warmth and softness of his lips and their insistence, his scent, his breath, his arms around her, his firm body against her, intoxicated her and sent heated paths coursing from her center to her limbs. This for eternity, she mused to herself; it wasn't such a bad proposition since she felt she would never tire of such bliss. She longed to feel the warmth of his tongue against the sensitive peaks of her skin but instead he stood and pulled her up with him; she stumbled and tried to calm her heart and catch her breath.

He watched her steadily, and waited, his glittering green eyes serious. "Was it as intense as all that?"

"Yes, my love, it always is. I've tried to tell you that you intoxicate me."

"Well I hope it's not unhealthy!"

"Me too, because I'm not going to stop. Ever!" She smiled impishly and he hugged her close "How lucky I am to have you." "And I, you." He led her inside the house where they quietly disappeared into the bedroom.

He pulled the missive from his mother out of his pocket and glanced at Christine as he held it between his thumb and forefinger. "Are you ready to hear what she has written?"

"I am ready when you are and not a moment before." Slowly Erik broke the seal and slipped the folded paper outside of the envelope and pressed it open. The paper was a faded yellow and the crease had begun to separate in some places. Christine held her breath. Erik read aloud:

_My Beautiful Son Erik,_

_If you are reading this, no doubt, I have passed from this life. I continue to hope most ardently you are alive and well somewhere, and happy, for you have brought me the greatest happiness a mother could ever wish for. Your cheerful spirit, and your affectionate ways always lifted my heart. Your musical gifts and your curious intellect were a gift straight from the heavens. Use them well. Every day spent with you was filled with joy and wonder. I love you dearly for always. You will never be far from my heart._

Christine was crying openly. Erik's tears came too. He stopped and brushed them aside before continuing:

_I have been here five years and you would be a young man by now. There is something that weighs heavily upon my mind and which is of utmost importance I make you privy: Gabriel Bonnaire is not your father. I loved your father with all my heart and soul, unfortunately, fate kept us apart. For reasons of safety, I am not at liberty to divulge his identity in this missive. Your father knew you and loved you when you were a child, before I had to take you away. Seek him out._

_With all my love,_

_Your dearest Mama_

Erik dropped his hand into his lap along with the missive. "Oh Christine….Who could my father be? Why would she not say? And what did she mean in _this_ missive? Is she trying to say there is another?" Suddenly he turned swiftly to face her, "Thank God my father is not Bonnaire! Oh the relief! Such an evil man."

Erik stood and began pacing while dragging long fingers through his hair with one hand and holding the missive with the other. She said that my father loved me, yet I have no memory of him. What would my name have been? What kept them apart?"

"I don't know my dearest love; you've got quite a history!"

"Yes, and it keeps growing."

Erik stopped his pacing and tossed the note onto the nightstand next to the bed and then came over to Christine and wrapped her in his arms. He touched his forehead to hers.

"Thank you for taking this journey with me, my fairest Christine. I couldn't do it without you. I love you so."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Erik placed his cheek against her hair so he could see behind her to reach back and unfasten the hooks of her dress, one at a time. With her nostrils pressed against his chest she breathed in deeply his mesmerizing scent, heard his breath softly against her ear, and felt his warm, gentle fingers dancing against her bare skin. Once the dress fell open to fully reveal the creamy skin of her back, he slid his fingers across her smooth skin and down he arms to let the dress slide to the floor in a slippery hush. She stood clad only in her chemise and undergarments.

She untied his cravat and let it flutter to the floor and then undid his waist coat, all the while staring into the green eyes that smoldered with devotion and desire. She pushed the ruffles of his shirt aside and planted gentle, full, lips over his chest and stopped at the crests. He sucked in his breath sharply and pushed his fingers into her wayward curls and then sank down on the bed with her against him in his arms to return the favor. Hot trails that tingled shot throughout Christine's body. They touched, and tasted and explored with gentle lips and soft hands, each the warmth and contours of the other, though without the fullness of consummation. When the flames of their passion had dimmed into glowing embers, and Christine lay with her back nestled against the bare skin of Erik's chest and his body curled around hers she turned contented eyes to the spray of glittering blue stars outside the window that twinkled in the black night sky and thought again of the encrusted blue diamonds of the ring that reminded her so much of the stars outside burning for eternity before her eyelids finally slid into a deeply contented slumber within the warm embrace of her dearly beloved.


End file.
